


The Reformation of Eliot Waugh

by ObsidiansChild



Series: The Reformation of Eliot Waugh [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, BUCKETS OF ANGST, Bisexual Margo Hanson, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Dom/sub Undertones, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, F/F, F/M, Gen, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, I cannot stress the level of trigger warning on this, I like to live dangerously, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, No Beast, No Beta, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Original Spellwork, Other, Quentin Coldwater is a brat, Rape, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Smut, gratuitous smoking, it's mentioned a lot, making magic shit up, non-con, season one AU, they eat a lot?, yes it's mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 45
Words: 151,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23861320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidiansChild/pseuds/ObsidiansChild
Summary: Quentin is hurt, and Eliot and Margo are there in the aftermath.
Relationships: Margo Hanson/Alice Quinn/Original Male Character, Margo Hanson/Original Male Character(s), Quentin Coldwater & Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker
Series: The Reformation of Eliot Waugh [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719526
Comments: 348
Kudos: 432





	1. This Isn't Control

**Author's Note:**

> I want to stress immediately that this story should NOT EVEN BE CONSIDERED if you are triggered by mentions of sexual assault. It is not only implied here, there are graphic details. This story was my first attempt at writing fanfic in nearly ten years. It poured out of me, and I wrote forty-five chapters in a month. My closest friends have read it, but I never intended to post it, so I did not hold back. Writing is a form of therapy for me, and this one was written purely for myself. I do hope you enjoy it, but I will not argue over how the characters deal with the assault. I have dealt with my own assaults, and supported people I love who experienced the same. It is never the same; everyone’s experience is unique. I will accept criticism for anything else you may not agree with, though. I also don’t have all my tags sorted yet, as this is my first time posting here.
> 
> This turned into a series, because I can’t quite let go of this world. The main story is finished and I will try to post once or twice a week while I make edits. There will probably be many one-shots added over time. 
> 
> Technical notes: there are no set chapter lengths, because I never intended for anyone else to read this. So, there’s 5 pages here and 17 pages there. Sorry! I’m also very into using music to inspire my writing, so there is a playlist for this on Spotify. If anyone enjoys this enough to be interested, I’ll gladly provide how to find it, but it does contain spoilers. :)
> 
> Chapter title is from "This Isn't Control" by MS MR.

_ Eliot _

Three AM found Eliot Waugh reclined against his headboard, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. To his right, a crystal ashtray spun in lazy circles to catch any stray ashes if he became too distracted. His left hand was curled around the spine of the book resting on his chest, as his hazel eyes scanned the text intently. 

This was commonly his study hour. Other than Margo, no one was aware that Eliot had more trouble than most focusing during normal hours, making studying in the common room or, you know, actually  _ learning  _ in class all but impossible. He expended too much energy during the day reigning in his own innate powers, refusing to be seen as the freak who couldn’t handle his shit. He’d had enough of the startled looks during undergrad, when no one had even known he was the cause of the occasional broken window or flying textbook. At Brakebills, everyone knew Eliot was telekinetic, and the careful persona he’d crafted for himself wouldn’t have held here if he couldn’t control his powers along with it. So, he kept a firm grip during the day, outside of the cottage. Within its walls, the random shattered shot glass or floating candlestick could be blamed on anyone. 

It was hard for Eliot to understand the complaints he so often heard from other students-- how they couldn’t get the magic to “come” or “work.” 

He couldn’t turn it off. 

Not that every spell worked for him; that was hardly the case. It was just that the magic was always  _ there, _ ready to spark from his fingers. Something always happened, if not the thing he’d intended. So, after the partying and drinking died down, Eliot would study, usually staying weeks ahead of the curriculum in order to allow himself to float through his classes under a comfortable haze of narcotics. It left him more than a little exhausted, but he could sleep when he was dead. And if all the furniture in his room began to float inches off the floor when he was particularly invested in learning a new spell, no one knew but him.

Eliot glanced towards his door when he heard the slow footsteps of someone ascending the stairs to the second floor, and his brow arched when he heard a rather loud thud a moment later. “Someone sounds a little tipsy,” he mumbled to himself, stubbing the cigarette out and flipping the page. He almost continued to read before he realized it could be Quentin, though he’d honestly assumed Q had been home for hours and he just hadn’t noticed. 

He’d been surprised to learn from Margo that Quentin had actually agreed to go out with Julia that night, until he’d learned it was for some fantasy trivia contest at a dive bar. Right up his favorite nerd’s alley. But 3 AM seemed a little late for the man to be arriving home.

_ Maybe there was a Fillory bonus round,  _ he thought with a soft quirk of his lips as he tossed the book aside and stood from his bed. Maybe Quentin would be up for a nightcap before sleeping. And if he wasn’t, just seeing his favorite first-year adorably wasted was enough for Eliot.

Stepping out into the hall, Eliot barely saw a glimpse of Quentin as he disappeared behind his own bedroom door, which closed with enough force to almost qualify as a slam. He nearly turned away, assuming his friend had possibly had a bad night; he supposed they could catch up tomorrow.

But Eliot’s brow furrowed as the tell-tale lines of the sloppiest ward he’d ever seen coalesced over the closed door. If he hadn’t known Quentin had cast it, he never would have guessed. The lines were jagged, barely meeting as they faded out of sight. They looked…

Panicked. 

Taking a deep breath, Eliot started down the hall, his lips thin as he pressed them together. Quentin hadn’t been in the best mood since he’d returned from Brakebills South a few weeks ago, and Eliot knew it had something to do with young Miss Quinn. He’d spent his own time under Mayakovsky, and it wasn’t difficult to guess what might have happened between the two first years. Now, Alice would barely look at Quentin, and usually vacated any room he entered. Eliot himself thought it was a little childish, but at the same time, he could understand. He just wasn’t sure if Alice was upset because something  _ had _ happened, or if something wasn’t going to happen  _ again _ . Quentin’s behavior hadn’t really indicated one or the other; he’d just seemed a bit grouchy and annoyed over the woman’s refusal to occupy the same space as him. Eliot frequently had to remind himself the whole thing was none of his business.

As he reached Quentin’s door, however, he had to admit his friend’s current mood was also probably none of his business. He started to turn away, but just as he did, he heard a choked sob sound from within Quentin’s room, and felt it echo within his own chest.

Without thinking, his knuckles rapped on the door. “Q?”

There was a moment of silence, followed by Quentin’s voice, sounding almost strangled. “W-What? I’m tired, El. I’m going to bed.”

Eliot backed up a step, the instinct to protect his own feelings almost outweighing his worry. But this was so unlike Quentin. No matter how upset he got, he always talked to Eliot, and Eliot had made sure he knew the option was always on the table. 

Hadn’t he? 

Still, Eliot wasn’t sure how to force a conversation. Slowly, he backed further from the door, reluctantly turning away. He’d check on Quentin in the morning. Maybe force the man out of bed early and prepare him a breakfast full of sugar, with absolutely nothing of nutritional value. He’d worry all night before that, but Quentin didn’t need to know. 

But there was something on the floor.

The tips of Eliot’s toes stopped just inches from it. A small, circular spot, next to a smaller one with a little tail. A warped semicolon, of blood. 

Q’s blood.

Eliot turned swiftly, his heart hammering in his chest as he knocked more forcefully on the door. “Quentin?”

“Eliot,  _ fuck!  _ Go the fuck away!” he heard his friend shout, his voice broken and raw. 

Eliot swallowed the hurt. “Not until you let me in,” he replied as calmly as possible. 

No response. 

Eliot waited for several moments before it became clear that Quentin intended to ignore him. Clenching his jaw, he took a step backwards from the door, framing his shoulders as he brought his hands up and poised his fingers for the magic needed to unravel the ward before him. He exhaled shakily after a few attempts, his fingers trembling too much to even light a fucking cigarette with magic. He thought of finding his phone and calling Julia, demanding for her to tell him what the fuck had happened. But finding someone with her number would take time, and although he knew Julia was Quentin’s closest friend, Eliot wouldn’t relax until he set eyes on the man himself. 

Taking a steadying breath, Eliot turned and hurried down the hall to another warded door. Unlike Quentin’s, these wards could have been constructed from steel, but were designed to allow him passage. He quietly opened the door and stepped through magic that felt like a rush of polar air. 

Margo was nothing more than a blanketed lump in the middle of her bed, nothing visible except a few long strands of her hair curling across the pillow. He rushed to the side of the bed, trying to find her shoulder underneath the mountain of her bedding. “Bambi?”

He heard a very indelicate snort in the darkness, and moments later a wrinkled nose and squinting eyes appeared from within the nest. “What the fuck?”

She must have seen something in his eyes he hadn’t meant to reveal, because she was quickly wrestling her way out of her cocoon. “El, what’s wrong?”

“Um, Quentin? Something’s wrong. I-I can’t get through the ward,” he confessed.

She looked confused momentarily, but seemed to brush it off, lifting her hand for him to assist her off the bed. He did so without thought, and waited for her to hurriedly slip a robe over her nude form before leading him into the hallway. She quickly performed the tuts for the Mann Reveal as she faced Quentin’s door. “Q did that?” 

Eliot nodded. “Can you undo it?” 

Margo scoffed, but her eyes held none of the sarcasm her voice did. A few seconds of quick movements from her fingers and she nodded. “It’s down.” When Eliot didn’t move, she angled her eyes towards his face. “What now?”

“I… I have to go in there. I-I found blood on the floor, but he told me to go away, and I--”

“Oh, fuck this,” Margo said softly with a hard edge to her voice, striding towards Quentin’s door. Eliot hurried to follow her as she barged inside. 

Quentin was on his bed, and in the dim light from his table lamp, it was clear he was still fully dressed, curled up in a ball on the very edge of his mattress with his back facing the door. Margo crossed her arms and stood her ground, looking expectantly at Eliot. It was hard to keep himself from glaring at her as he stepped past her towards the end of the bed. “Q?” he asked hesitantly, trying to get a better look at his friend’s face. Quentin made it more difficult by curling in on himself, trying to burrow into the hood of his sweatshirt as he squeezed his eyes shut so forcefully it looked painful. 

Terrified, Eliot slowly took a seat on the end of the bed, his eyes looking over Quentin’s form for any clue as to what was wrong, for what had possibly happened at a goddamn  _ trivia  _ night to make him so upset, to make him  _ bleed.  _

He was unaware Margo had joined him until he felt the comforting press of her hand on his shoulder. 

“Q, what’s going on?” Margo asked softly, almost gently. Eliot could hear the concern in her voice, and knew if Quentin’s response didn’t merit, there would be hell to pay.

Eliot watched as Quentin’s whole body seemed to spasm slightly, as he ground his forehead against his pillow, revealing a nasty cut on his chin. 

“Fuck, Quentin,” Eliot gasped, leaning forward to better examine the gash. 

Things quickly went to shit. Feeling Eliot shift towards him, Quentin’s leg shot out and connected with Eliot’s knee as he tried to scramble away. Eliot cursed loudly in surprise and pain, nearly falling over and taking Margo with him. In the second it took to right himself and pull Margo to his side by her waist, Quentin fell to the floor on the other side of the bed. 

Eliot started towards him, but was held fast by Margo’s fingers around his wrist. He turned to look at her and saw a sheen of tears over her eyes, her jaw clenched. He watched her take a breath, and her grip on him eased, her hand moving to his chest to indicate he needed to keep his distance before she walked silently past him.

Eliot was lost as he watched Margo approach Quentin’s shadowy form in the corner of the room. He’d made himself a corner between the bed and the wall, and Eliot could hear his hitching breaths as Margo knelt on the floor near him, but not too close. “Q?”

Several loud breaths. “Margo, please leave.” Eliot barely heard Quentin’s whispered plea. 

“You know I can’t,” she replied gently. “I’m sorry we scared you. How’d you get home?”

Another several moments of silence, so thick Eliot wanted to scream. 

“I… I walked. To the portal.”

“Where’s Julia?”

“I… I guess at the party? I-I think her and Kady were staying. That’s what she said, I think. That we’d come back in the morning.” Eliot watched Quentin’s face lower onto his knees. Whatever Margo was thinking, focusing Quentin’s attention away from himself seemed to be working at calming him some.

“I thought you guys were going to a bar?” Margo kept her voice casual, just sounding mildly confused. Conversational.

“I… we did. There were some, uh, people Kady knew there. Hedges? They invited us to the party.”

“Any good drugs? I’ve heard those safe houses are loaded sometimes,” she said, trying for humor but sobering when Quentin began shaking his head back and forth across his knees. “Q… did you take something?”

A short burst of a sob escaped Quentin, and Eliot had to force his teeth together not to react. “I didn’t mean to,” he cried softly. “I didn’t k-know. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t  _ move.” _

Margo’s eyes met Eliot’s across the bed, and he saw the quiver of her lip before she turned her attention back to Quentin. “Hey honey, I’m coming in, okay?”

Quentin didn’t speak or react, only trembled and wept as Margo gathered him close to her, pressing his head against her chest. She slowly lowered herself to sit on the floor again, bringing Quentin with her, whispering comforting nonsense against his hair. 

Eliot was breathing harshly, confused and horrified. Someone had drugged Quentin? And Kady and Julia had just left him? It could have been anything, considering hedges were involved. He’d probably been terrified until it had worn off…

“Q, we need to have you looked at, okay?” Margo spoke, and Eliot looked sharply at her. She didn’t notice, her focus on Quentin as he shook his head against her.

“N-No. I can’t, c-c-can’t.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ll be there. Eliot too, if you want. We’ve got you, you don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to say anything, okay?”

Eliot didn’t understand immediately. It was clear Quentin had been drugged, had somehow managed to get injured during his induced paralysis. But then it hit Eliot like a hammer, knocking the wind from him, his eyes widening and his lips trying to turn down as he realized someone had given Q the drug for a reason. A reason that Margo had pieced together much more swiftly than he had; a reason that had made Quentin kick at Eliot like a terror-stricken rabbit when he’d gotten too close.

“Fuck,” Eliot rasped, wiping his hand over his mouth to contain the sob that wanted to escape. He wanted to cross the floor, to yank Margo away and wrap Quentin against his chest. He wanted to portal to New York and let his magic run rampant, on Julia, on Kady, on…. whatever

goddamn  _ monster  _ had…

“Eliot.”

He wrenched himself from his black thoughts to look at Margo, who now had her war face on. He wanted to take charge of this, he wanted to see  _ blood, _ but he knew he had to defer to her on this. She knew what Quentin was going through, on some level. That’s how she’d recognized it first.

Eliot didn’t. He’d been kicked, punched, thrown, ridiculed and laughed at, but he’d never been fucking raped.

He nodded, letting her know he was ready for whatever task she gave him. He ignored his shaking hands, the tightness in his chest, how every piece of glass in the room just begged to be shattered.

Margo turned her attention back to Quentin, pulling herself away just enough to hold his injured chin with her fingers. She could see him now, but Eliot couldn’t, the curtain of Quentin’s hair obscuring his face. “Honey, can Eliot carry you across campus? He won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” Quentin said immediately, his voice barely more than a dry croak. “I-I know that, I do. I just…”

“You panicked, it’s okay,” Margo assured him. “You’re okay, aren’t you, El?”

“Yes,” he managed to say, and had no idea how his voice sounded so steady. “I’m… fine, Q.” He hesitantly crossed the room to stand behind Margo, and fucking Christ, he  _ ached  _ when his eyes finally met Quentin’s, full of fear and remorse. 

Quentin’s gaze darted away from them both, his fingers worrying at the frayed cuffs of his sweatshirt. “I-I really don’t want to leave. Can I go tomorrow? O-Or just… I don’t know, go to a regular doctor, o-or not at all? I really think that, that I’m  _ fine.  _ I’ll be fine.” It hurt Eliot to watch him plead like this, his words tripping over each other.

Margo reached out to smooth his hair. “Q, we have to. I’m so sorry, it  _ sucks.  _ I… I’ve had to do it. More than once.” Eliot saw Quentin’s eyes dart back to Margo at such a confession. “But this is Brakebills, okay? There won’t be a cop, or someone asking you a million pointless fucking questions and making you feel like shit. We just need to get you checked and cleaned up. El and I can do most of the second part, if you’re okay with that. And Lipson can be a bitch, but she’ll keep her mouth shut.”

Quentin looked long at Margo before his eyes tilted up to Eliot. After a moment, he nodded. “I-I can walk, though,” he told them.

“Q, are you sure?” Eliot asked. “I… I heard you almost fall down the stairs.”

He watched as Quentin slowly unfolded himself, using the bed to bring himself to a standing position.  _ I shouldn’t have asked,  _ he thought angrily.  _ I can’t push it if he doesn’t want me to touch him now.  _ But oh, Eliot would miss it. Even if Quentin didn’t put off a single gay vibe, he loved being cuddled, and Eliot loved being the one to cuddle him.

But then he felt Quentin’s hand fold itself into his and met his eyes in surprise. “Just, maybe keep me steady?” he asked softly.

Eliot swallowed, nodding. 

Margo ran to her room to get dressed, and Eliot started helping Quentin down the stairs slowly, letting the smaller man use his arm to shift his weight more comfortably. He willed his own arm not to tremble under Quentin’s grip, willed his expression not to crumble every time a pained hiss escaped Quentin’s lips, willed every bottle in the common room bar not to explode into dust before Margo rejoined them, jogging ahead to open the door.

The pre-dawn air was damp and chilled as they made their way across the wet grass, Eliot only realizing he’d forgotten shoes when he felt the squelch of it through his socks. It was easily ignored as he felt Quentin lean into him, letting Eliot support more of his weight as they neared the infirmary building. He wanted to offer to carry him again, but kept himself from it, knowing he’d be refused. The door wasn’t far.

Margo went in ahead of the men, presumably to bark orders and clear the way to give Quentin the privacy he needed. Eliot felt the younger man shiver against him as they neared the door. He almost asked if he was okay, and bit his lip harshly before the words could spill out. Was there anything he could say? Not ‘it’ll be over soon,’ not ‘you’ll be fine.’ Everything possibly said in these situations seemed trite and disgusting.

_ These situations…  _ Seriously?

He managed to push open the door and shuffle Quentin into the entrance of the infirmary without releasing his hold on him, and was relieved when he saw Margo waiting, her cheeks flushed in anger and eyes sparking dangerously. “Everyone’s cleared out and Lipson’s on her way,” she told them, gesturing for Eliot to follow her down the hall to the few private rooms the place offered. She opened the first one, slipping into the darkness to find a lamp instead of the harsh overhead light. It would be on soon enough, but Eliot appreciated her attempt to give Quentin comfort for as long as possible.

Margo lowered the gurney as much as she could, her mouth tight with effort as it dropped, but it was still going to be painful for Quentin to climb onto it. Eliot eased his hold on his friend, backing away just enough to study his face. “How are your ribs?” he asked quietly.

Quentin looked up at him in confusion, his brow furrowed deeply. “I mean, they’re f-fine, I guess? Why?”

“Because unless I levitate you, it’s probably best if I lift you.”

A little spark of something passed through Quentin’s eyes, something familiar. “Y-You can do that? Levitate another person?”

Eliot wanted to cry. Even like this, even in unbearable pain, Quentin still loved magic.  _ What the fuck, Q. _

“Uh… yeah? I just don’t think it’s the best idea right now. C’mon.” Very gently, Eliot pressed his fingertips to Quentin’s ribs, giving him every chance to refuse the touch. Quentin met his eyes briefly, giving a short nod that allowed Eliot to continue, and he carefully hoisted Quintin onto the thin mattress, giving him a moment to adjust himself onto his side before he let go. 

“Thanks, El.” Eliot tried to smile in response, but it felt plastic and forced. He used his wet foot to hook a stool and bring it close to the bed, taking a seat near the head of the gurney. Margo stayed near the door, on the lookout for Lipson. She probably wanted a few words before the woman laid eyes on Q.

“El?”

He pulled his gaze from Margo to look at Quentin, who was staring up at him, that stray lock of hair hanging in front of his eyes, and he itched to tuck it behind his ear. “Yeah?”

“You… you don’t have to stay. N-Not that I don’t appreciate it, of course I do, and I shouldn’t have kicked you like that, I did say I was sorry, right? If I didn’t, I am, I have no idea what happened, but you don't have, have to--”

“Q.” Eliot’s iron-clad control slipped for a moment, and he watched as Quentin’s hair slowly moved away from his face, and heard Quentin’s soft gasp as he realized it was Eliot moving it. Could he feel a difference? Had he learned yet, the strange, subtle sense of an individual’s magic? Possibly not. To Eliot, Margo’s magic was like an electric whip made of deliciously cold air, and Quentin’s was like… like the steam from a hot cup of tea, when you’re wrapped up in blankets in front of a warm fire and there’s a blizzard outside. Oddly specific. “I’m… I’m not where I want to be, I don’t want to say that. And if you tell me to leave, if you really want me to, I’ll go. But I don’t want that. Okay?” When Quentin didn’t respond, he continued. “How about… I stay right here. And you just focus on me, and we’ll just talk?”

For a moment, Eliot thought he’d said the wrong thing  _ (like always)  _ because Quentin’s eyes glazed with fresh tears. But then he shifted on the bed, bringing his hand out from his comically long sleeve to hold against the edge of the gurney. 

Eliot took the offering, entwining his own longer fingers with Quentin’s more sturdy ones and trying to smile again. It came easier this time, and he didn’t glance away when he heard Margo step into the hall to intercept Lipson. He wasn’t here for that, and Margo could handle herself and anyone that got in her way.


	2. Secretly We're Saviors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from "Glory and Gore" by Lorde.

_ Margo _

“Margo, how am I supposed to sufficiently examine him when I can’t ask him any questions?”

Margo huffed, her arms crossed as she regarded Professor Lipson. “Look, I get you have to ask him about pain and shit like that, okay? Just don’t interrogate him. We barely got him here at all, and he could shut the whole thing down in a second.”

Margo had to give Lipson credit; she looked concerned. “I’ll be as delicate as I can, but if he’s seriously hurt, you’re just going to have to step back and let me deal with it, okay?”

She glared hotly at the woman before stepping back into the room without a word. Lipson swept past her, going straight to the vacant side of the bed and ignoring Eliot’s presence entirely. The overhead lights came on and Margo swallowed something she wouldn’t acknowledge as she saw Eliot’s hand holding Quentin’s. Their foreheads were only inches apart as Eliot spoke in low tones, too quietly for her to hear, but she could see the smile on his face. It looked pained, and Margo wouldn’t have traded him for all the money in the world. Quentin didn’t seem to notice how strained El’s expression was, though, as he responded to something, looking almost thoughtful.

“Mr. Coldwater?”

Margo pressed her lips together as Quentin looked away from Eliot, panic clear in his eyes. “Y-Yeah, hi.”

“Could you please try to lay back so I can deal with your chin? That’s probably the best place to start.”

Quentin’s eyes darted around worriedly, and Margo briefly wondered what it was like to live inside his head. How many thoughts had just happened in there? “Um… yeah,” he agreed, not letting go of Eliot’s hand as he carefully rolled onto his back. Lipson swiftly adjusted the head of the gurney for a better angle before completing a series of tuts similar to a Mann Reveal, but with a few added gestures. Peering through her fingers, she moved slowly from Quentin’s head to his toes. Looking over her shoulder, she nodded towards Margo. 

He was clean.  _ At least we have that,  _ she thought. She also briefly thanked the gods that men couldn’t get pregnant and almost laughed. Christ, she needed to sleep. 

As the professor prepared more mundane instruments to deal with the gash on Quentin’s chin, Margo watched Eliot tug lightly on his hand. “So, what about Alice?” he asked. Margo’s brow quirked. Why the fuck were they talking about Alice Quinn?

Quentin tore his eyes away from the tray of instruments Lipson was preparing to look up thoughtfully. “Um… that’s kind of weird, I think,” he mused, startling a little when Lipson tilted his chin up to get a better look.

“They’re all kind of weird, Q,” El drawled, keeping his voice light even as Margo watched Quentin clamp onto his fingers as he hissed. Lipson didn’t apologize as she started to sterilize the wound. “Spill.”

“Like… paper? Or ink? Y-you know that smell when you make copies and the paper is still warm?”

Eliot chuckled, actually looking delighted for a moment. “Alice Quinn reminds you of toner? Rude.”

Margo was shocked to see Quentin actually smile. “It’s not like I can help it.”

Realizing what her boys were talking about, Margo stepped up to the end of the bed as she saw the professor readying the sutures. Why couldn’t the woman just use magic? “What about me?”

“Oh, do tell,” Eliot said. “I wanna see if we match.” 

Quentin looked at her thoughtfully. “Cast something?” he requested.

Margo smirked at him but complied, performing a perfect Sumerian Shield Charm, with a little flare, hoping to make him smile again. 

It worked and Quentin squinted at her. “Ice water? With, like, mint.” His eyes moved towards Eliot as Lipson held his chin firmly. “You?”

“Close,” Eliot told him. “Now hold still, okay?”

Quentin took a deep breath before looking to Lipson, like he hated to acknowledge her presence. “Stitches?”

“Trust me, the other option hurts worse and will probably scar. No talking.” 

Quentin obediently shut his mouth, and the room was silent for a moment before the professor spoke. “And that was nothing like ice water. That was pure mojito.”

Margo grinned. 

Once the sutures were completed, Lipson sat back, regarding Quentin seriously. “This is the hard part. I’d usually have you strip and do a thorough exam, but I’m afraid if I do, I may have to expel two of our more talented second years. If you want peace of mind, I’d still suggest it. The other option is, you tell me what hurts and we just go piece by piece. And whatever makes you more comfortable, you need to voice. If you want Margo and Eliot to leave--”

“N-No, I…” Quentin closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Took another.  _ Therapy in action,  _ Margo thought, with a touch of sadness. But when he opened his eyes, he looked a little steadier. “Can I cover up?”

Lipson nodded, her heels a staccato on the floor as she went to a supply closet, withdrawing a gown. She passed it to Quentin. “I’ll step out and Margo can let me know when you’re ready.”

Once the professor was gone, Quentin looked at the gown like it was a bomb. “So… how do I do this?”

Margo was surprised when Eliot stood, taking the gown from Quentin’s hands. “Can you sit up all the way?”

Quentin grimaced, but braced his weight on his arms, attempting it. Another gasp of pain escaped him. “Goddamn it,” he growled quietly.

Margo watched Eliot flounder, unseen by Quentin’s eyes. “Q… just. Let me?” 

Margo felt her lip tremble and forced it to still when Quentin nodded without question, not even asking El to elaborate, just trusting him. She bit her lip when Quentin rose an inch or two from the gurney. 

This had only ever been Margo’s gift to see. Everyone knew El’s discipline, watched him float drinks or cigarettes in the cottage, treating his ability like a party trick. But when it came to manipulating people, putting them where he wanted them, Eliot just… didn’t. She knew why, and when he’d first floated her to his bedroom ceiling, both of them laughing hysterically, she’d felt special. Loved. Eliot’s magic was like smooth bourbon and soft silk, precious and expensive, but she wasn’t really surprised that she didn’t mind sharing it in this room. With this boy.

“Holy shit,” Quentin breathed softly, looking in wonder at the gurney below him.

“Okay, Q?” 

“Y-Yeah, just… surprised?” 

“Can you sit up now?”

“Should I?” he asked. “Like, it won’t mess you up?”

Eliot’s lips quirked, and Margo just knew he’d just stopped himself from bragging. He could probably safely float the whole damn building without disturbing the contents of the cabinets, or at least Margo suspected. She’d never seen him do more than all the furniture in his bedroom at once. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

Quentin slowly maneuvered himself to sit up straight, and looked surprised when Eliot leaned towards him. “Arms up,” he instructed, and Quentin’s surprised expression didn’t fade as Eliot deftly removed his sweatshirt without his careful hold wavering in the slightest. Eliot’s hands moved to the hem of his t-shirt next, but Quentin lowered his arms quickly, crossing them tightly against his chest as he took another deep breath. 

Eliot immediately withdrew his hands, and the room was silent for a long moment before Margo made herself speak. “Q, if you can’t…”

“I… I know I need to. I just…” He looked pleadingly between the two of them. “Can we… just not talk about it, though? Please?”

Margo immediately nodded, moving to stand near Eliot so he could see them both without turning. “We don’t talk about shit until and unless you’re ready, okay? Not a fucking word. And that goes for anyone else too, okay? You just find us and we’ll stop it. Hell, we can set up a spell for it, okay?”

Quentin’s brow furrowed. “Like, an alarm or something?”

Eliot tilted his head. “More like a little telepathic text message.”

Quentin perked up at that. “Oh, like a sending?”

A rough laugh bubbled from Margo’s throat. “Yes, you dork. El and I have had one forever, and it’s super simple to activate. It won’t be hard to add you in.”

“Oh, um, I mean, okay. I mean, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” Eliot assured him. “Ready now?”

Quentin sighed and nodded, his doe eyes going almost glassy as he lifted his arms again, allowing Eliot to remove his shirt. Margo’s eyes bulged before she could force her expression to cooperate, and she heard a softly broken “fuck” escape from Eliot. 

Quentin dropped his eyes, unable to look at either of them as they surveyed the damage, the bloody crescents across Quentin’s shoulders and biceps, the bruises that dotted his collarbones. Margo wondered if the other side was worse, and briefly hated herself for it, though she wasn’t sure why. 

Eliot seemed to regain his composure before she could, lifting the gown from the small bed and moving Q’s hands through the sleeves like he was a doll. He was the one who stepped around the bed to tie the strings, and Margo watched his expression waver as he fought to keep it composed, carefully holding the strings away from Quentin’s back as he quickly knotted them together.

“There,” he managed to say, his voice only slightly raspy. “Can you handle your pants?”

“I-I think, but it’s kind of weird, because, hey, floating.” The simple joke almost made Margo sob, reminding her suddenly of humid air and clustered rooms with stained curtains, and manic laughter that she hadn’t realized was her own, and once she had… 

She and Eliot very rarely utilized their little spell. It had been designed to alert Eliot if a guy got too handsy with her in the rare moments she wasn’t sure if she could handle her shit, or if Eliot desperately needed a rando out of his room because he couldn’t hold his own shit together enough not to float his bed across the room. Not quite “emergency only” but close enough. 

But remembering the girl who’d fallen the fuck apart a decade ago in a dank Los Angeles ER room, after making her own jokes about her shitty luck, Margo decided this was emergency enough, and curled her middle finger up her index finger, hidden at her side.  _ He’s going to fall apart, El. You ready for it? _

Eliot met her eyes over Quentin’s shoulder, looking vaguely surprised before he gave her a quick nod.  _ I’m not the one to worry about, Bambi. _

She gave him the barest hint of a smile, knowing it was fake as fuck, but whatever.  _ Love you, bitch. _

Eliot only closed his eyes, shaking his head as he smiled back.  _ Always, bitch. _

Quentin managed to clumsily remove his pants until they were gathered at his ankles, and only looked vaguely humiliated when Margo stepped up to pull them off the rest of the way, tossing them at the end of the bed along with his shoes. “I think your socks can stay,” she quipped, tugging playfully on his big toe. Quentin laughed softly. 

Eliot walked Quentin through reclining onto his side while in the telekinetic hold while Margo retrieved Lipson. When she returned her attention to the two men, Quentin was once again resting on the gurney, and Eliot had returned to the stool at his side. Margo tapped Eliot’s knee with her nails, and he immediately made space for her to settle on his leg. This way Quentin could focus on them and still maintain some of his privacy. 

To her credit, Lipson didn’t remark on Quentin’s wounds, and Margo was relieved as she watched her perform a complicated looking series of tuts that caused Q’s eyes to flutter shut in relief. “A-Are they gone?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

“No, but they’re numbed temporarily. I need to clean where you were… where the skin was broken,” she corrected herself. “And I’d prefer if you kept them dressed for a few days.”

“No problem,” Eliot replied before Quentin could speak. 

Lipson worked silently for several minutes, and Eliot, never one to remain completely still, busied himself by running his fingers down Quentin’s, lingering over his fingernails. They were dirty, which Margo had never noticed before. While Q wasn’t exactly fashionable, he was clean. It didn’t fit. 

_ Like any of it does,  _ she thought. 

Lipson performed another series of tuts, and Margo held her breath as she focused her gaze directly at Quentin’s ass, her lips twisting thoughtfully. “I can forgo a rectal exam,” she announced. “There’s some minor tearing, but there’s not much I can do for that. Well, nothing that won’t bring you screaming off the bed.”

Eliot squinted at her. “Why does your discipline suck so much?” 

Lipson rolled her eyes. “Because science has surpassed magical healing in many areas, or they work better in combination. Healing magic is great when you’re in the middle of nowhere, but in a doctor’s office, there’s not much point other than showing off. It’s usually better to let things mend on their own when they can. Quentin, can I clean this? Exterior only, I promise.”

Margo watched as Quentin clenched his jaw before forcing himself to respond. “Um. Yeah, I guess.”

Lipson got to work, looking towards Margo. “There’s going to be a long list you get to keep track of for the next few days. Lidocaine, antibiotic ointment, dressings. I’m going to prescribe him some pain pills, just something to take the edge off for the next few days.” Her eyes shot to Quentin again. “And I want you back on your antidepressants. Immediately.”

Eliot and Margo exchanged a confused look before Eliot looked back to Lipson.  _ “Back  _ on?”

Lipson sneered. “Henry Fogg and his fucking experiments. Magic doesn’t fix brain chemistry. Asshole.” 

Quentin squirmed a little as Lipson apparently got a little handsy beneath his gown, but seconds later, she snapped her gloves off. “Margo, let me go over this list with you in the hall. Eliot can help get Quentin dressed and you all can get some sleep. I’m excusing you from classes until Tuesday. Henry can eat a dick.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments! I appreciate every single one, and I'm so glad people are enjoying this story.


	3. Safe & Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Safe & Sound" by Taylor Swift and The Civil Wars.

_ Quentin _

As Quentin was led back across campus towards the Physical Kids cottage, he felt equal parts relief and dread. He was grateful to be away from the exam room, to be away from anyone that wasn’t Eliot or Margo. But the longer they walked, the closer he was to being left alone again.

_ Don’t be stupid,  _ he told himself.  _ You didn’t even want them around an hour ago.  _

Still, he couldn’t ignore how safe he felt, nestled under Eliot’s long arm, or how comforting it was to see Margo carrying his small bag of medical supplies, especially when she sometimes made Todd carry her champagne during parties. 

No one spoke as they made their way into the common room, Margo walking ahead, and when he and Eliot arrived in the bedroom behind her, she was already studying the label of one of his prescriptions. 

“I, uh.” He shrugged out from Eliot’s arm reluctantly. “I guess I’ll get a shower, a-and try to sleep? I mean, thank you. Both. So much. I-I can’t even find, like, actual words.” He noticed Margo’s eyebrow climbing. “What?”

“Where do you think we’re going?” she asked. 

Quentin’s mouth closed and opened several times as he tried to catch up. “I just thought that. I saw Lipson. Everything’s more or less fine, I guess, and it’s really late, so I just…”

Margo smiled softly, with just a hint of the teasing glint that rarely left her eyes around him. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to shower. And if you need help with that, you better fucking ask,” she told him with a mildly threatening look. “After that, I’m going to patch you back up and I’m hoping you’ll eat something.” Quentin pulled a face and she immediately held up one perfectly manicured finger for silence. “None of these bottles say you  _ have  _ to, but when was the last time you ate?”

Quentin tried to think, his memories of the past few hours jagged and sharp within his mind. “I, uh, had some nachos. At the bar. But… I honestly think if I ate right now…” He felt sick at the thought.

“Okay, we’ll try tomorrow,” she relented. “While you shower, we’re going to steal your phone and coordinate our calendars.”

“For what?”

“Pills, dressings, all that. And once that’s done, we’re all going to pile into Eliot’s stupid huge bed and pass the fuck out. Sound good?”

Quentin almost sank to the floor in relief, but couldn’t help but look towards Eliot, thinking he couldn’t possibly be okay with all of this. Eliot was paying him no attention at all, however, reading a label off one of his prescriptions before texting on his phone.  _ The calendar. Right. _

It was a little overwhelming, and he wasn’t sure how to react, what to  _ do.  _ “Um… okay? Okay. I’m just…” He hurriedly gathered something to change into from his dresser.

“No shirt until you get back,” Margo told him. “I’ll have to redo your bandages first.”

He nodded before shuffling down the hall to the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door, sighed, then also warded it. Removing his clothes, he made sure his eyes avoided glancing towards the mirror. He could feel every bite mark, every bruise. He didn’t want to see.

Under the too hot spray of the shower, he took a deep, trembling breath before he carefully removed the tape and gauze from the worst of his injuries, washing them as gingerly as he could manage with shaking hands. Every slide of the washcloth across his shoulders and chest was jarring, like it was happening all over again, and he quickly had to move his focus elsewhere as he actively tried to disassociate. Quentin had never really had an issue with feeling disconnected from reality, though. His problem had always been feeling  _ too  _ much, being  _ too  _ present. While he loved the escape of fantasy worlds, he was always painfully aware that he couldn’t escape his own mind. 

Shutting the water off, he dried himself and dressed in a fresh pair of boxer briefs and ratty sweatpants. He made an effort to dry his hair, though it was difficult to manage with the heat grazing his injuries. He settled on leaving it damp, brushed his teeth and gathered the clothes he would never wear again into his arms, not really knowing what else to do with them. He couldn’t leave them; someone would bitch. 

He walked quickly down the hall, afraid someone would see him even though it was nearing 5 AM. Opening the door to his room, he saw Margo and Eliot reclined on his bed, their temples nearly touching as they spoke in low tones, but they separated as he entered, and Margo did a quick flourish with her hands, leaving Quentin’s own empty. “Did you just disappear my clothes?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Do you really want ‘em back?” she asked pointedly.

“N-No,” he admitted, shaking his head.

“Good.” She patted the edge of the bed. “Sit down and let’s get this over with. Mama’s sleepy.”

Quentin curled his lip a bit at the “mama” of it all, but did as he was told, settling as gently as possible on the mattress until he felt comfortable enough to let his full weight sink down onto it. He listened to Margo prepare his bandages, tried not to wince at the cold feel of the ointment as she applied it to the wounds. “El, honey, can you hold his hair up for a sec?” Quentin heard no response, but soon felt the soft touch of Eliot’s fingertips graze his scalp. He suppressed a shiver, and the response of his body brought tears to his eyes. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? This… thing inside him that he couldn’t control, that had caused…  _ all  _ of it. 

It had led to his little experiment, an impulse decision he’d made in a moment. But when the opportunity had presented itself, it hadn’t seemed like a bad idea to Quentin to explore his sudden curiosity. 

_ Sudden.  _ He wanted to laugh at himself.  _ Right. _

It had been sudden, months ago. It had hit him like a brick to the face the moment he’d approached the Brakebills monument and seen Eliot Waugh for the first time. He’d been confused and steadily approaching hysterical, but he couldn’t have missed the hot flash of  _ want  _ that had burned through him.

And it had never really gone away. Quentin tried to ignore it for the most part, because in no world real or imagined could someone like Eliot want someone like  _ him.  _ Quentin was beyond grateful that Eliot and Margo had adopted him into their strange, private circle. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it, but he knew better than to jeopardize it by letting Eliot know how much the older man affected him. 

It had been difficult at first, to hide his feelings. The first word to describe Eliot was  _ tactile,  _ closely followed by  _ flirtatious.  _ Eliot had teased him mercilessly for all his blushing every time he touched Quentin or made jokes about seducing or corrupting him. But somehow, the shock and thrill of it had melded into something that was also comforting. Most terrifying of all, Quentin found that he almost expected things now, things he’d never even thought to hope for before his time at Brakebills, or from anyone else in his life. When he came in from a horrific day of classes, Eliot only had to see his face before laying his arm across the back of the sofa, fully expecting Quentin to curl into his side and be silent until he felt calm enough to start bitching. And he was never made to feel guilty when he found the darkest corner of their almost nightly parties to curl up and read, letting Eliot and Margo rule their court until eventually one of them would crawl up besides him and rest their head on his shoulder. Not speaking, not ridiculing or judging.

They just… let him be. And he’d never had that. Not from his parents, not even from Julia, his very best friend. 

He’d been terrified when his first depressive episode at Brakebills had hit, fully convinced Eliot and Margo would find someone else, someone fun, someone who had their shit together. It was true they’d handled him very differently. Margo had trapped him in the bathroom until he’d had no choice but to shower, throwing all his cursing at her right back at him with much more creativity and gusto (and maybe just a small amount of glee), while Eliot would recline on the bed next to him, ankles crossed while he absently pet Quentin’s hair, telling him absolutely scandalous stories of things he’d seen and done in Ibiza, his tales growing less and less believable until Quentin would beg him to stop or start laughing, unable to help himself. They never tried to change him, or tell him he had to stop. Everyone else made him feel like his depression was something he actively gave in to, something he could just stop doing if he ate enough, went outside enough, took the right combination of pills. Eliot and Margo, somehow, seemed to understand that it was just part of him. 

They’d become his best friends, so it had never even crossed Quentin’s mind to confess his feelings to Eliot. He wasn’t even totally sure what his feelings  _ were. ‘So, hey, I’ve never really gone past first base with a guy or wanted to, but I think I would very much like you to fuck me?’ _

It had seemed like an easy decision when someone, some  _ man,  _ had paid attention to him, to see if this steadily growing want within him was really just due to Eliot’s presence, or something that had shifted within himself. So, Quentin had responded to the attention given to him. The man hadn’t held a candle to Eliot in looks or personality, but he’d been attractive, and Quentin had at least been… curious.

And now he was here.

He came back to himself all at once, feeling a dip in the mattress next to him, seeing a flash of Margo’s skirt from the corner of his eye as she left the room. He was momentarily confused until the feeling returned to his body. His face felt wet and hot. There was a slight pressure against his head, and he saw Eliot’s hands clasped over his stomach. 

Eliot was holding him, and Quentin was  _ sobbing.  _

_ “Fuck,”  _ he whispered, bringing his hand up to drag down his face. “I’m sorry. Did Margo?”

“She went to get you some water,” Eliot said softly against his ear. “No apology needed.” The tone was light, but Eliot’s voice was strange. Rough. 

Margo returned with the glass of water, but dropped two pills into his hand first. “Bottoms up,” she told him, handing him the glass once the pills were in his mouth. He swallowed them dutifully, and followed Eliot’s direction when he gently pushed on him to leave the bed. Margo took his hand and pulled him down the hall and into Eliot’s room. Once inside, Eliot locked his door and he watched Margo ward it with strong, intersecting lines that quickly faded from view. He stood near the bed, feeling a little idiotic until Eliot pulled back his comforter, gesturing for him to climb up. 

“Fuck,” Margo cursed. “El, do you have something I can sleep in?”

_ “You?”  _ Eliot replied, his brow arched dramatically, but quickly nodded, pretending to be put out. “I suppose we can share.” He flicked his fingers and Quentin watched as one of the dresser drawers popped open and a set of silky, navy pajamas floated towards Margo. She grabbed the shirt from the air, and Eliot reached out for the pants. Seeing Quentin’s gobsmacked expression, Eliot smiled. “Margo and I are…”

“Not people who wear clothes to bed,” Quentin finished with a wry smile. “You know, I didn’t really expect you to be.”

“Judgy,” Margo commented, looking thrilled about it. “If you wanna have sweet dreams tonight, keep your eyes open,” she told him with a flirty wink. 

Quentin’s chest shook with silent laughter at the fucking  _ normalcy  _ of it all, but he did skirt his eyes away as Margo pulled her sweater off and shimmied out of her skirt. Quentin couldn’t help but glance towards Eliot, who was taking far more time in disrobing, neatly placing his discarded clothes into his hamper before sitting on the edge of the bed to slide on his sleep pants. 

Moments later, the lights were out and the blankets were settled comfortably across Quentin’s shoulders. With Margo on his left and Eliot on his right, he wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for co-sleeping like this, but he’d never been one to sleep on his back. 

“Night, bitches,” Margo mumbled, rolling away from Quentin and not seeming to care at all when her ass pressed against his leg.

“Sweet dreams, Bambi,” Eliot hummed as he threw his arm up over his head, grazing Quentin’s hair with it as he got himself comfortable. After a moment, Quentin heard him chuckle in the dark. “Do you always sleep like a corpse, Q?”

Margo snickered.

Quentin sighed. “You’re both assholes,” he grumbled, but squirmed on to his right side, trying to arrange his limbs in some way that didn’t encroach on Eliot’s personal space.

“And you’re exhausting,” Eliot quipped, pulling Quentin towards him until his head was resting on Eliot’s bare shoulder. It was then he realized he’d never thought to put a shirt on after his shower. He silently panicked over it for a moment or two, but the quiet and the comfort, along with the mildly intoxicating scent of Eliot’s cologne, slowly pulled him under, and Quentin slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blown away by all the lovely comments! Thank you all so much!


	4. Be My Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter goes into vivid detail of the assault. 
> 
> *Chapter title is from "Breathe Me" by Sia.

_ Eliot _

Several things kept Eliot from succumbing to sleep. He kept his breathing even and steady, not wanting to wake Quentin, and softly ran his fingers through the younger man’s hair, knowing it calmed him. Margo often called him their puppy. Not because Q actually reminded her of a puppy all that often, but because he always got deliciously bratty about it.

The worst of it was the anger, the absolute need to trace Quentin’s path back, to seek, to annihilate. While Eliot’s discipline was telekinesis, he had an affinity for flame. He wanted to burn something, some _ one.  _ It was a lovely thought, and a terrifying one. 

That wasn’t the only pain he dreamed of inflicting, and with that brought a small amount of guilt. He was looking forward to the look on Julia’s face when she found out, and he knew that was ugly and small of him. Quentin loved Julia, but Eliot was nothing if not observant. Quentin wasn’t  _ Quentin  _ around the woman, not entirely. It was like he was always trying to be some other version of himself around her, someone she’d accept more easily. He was always stashing his Fillory books to the side when Julia entered the room, or pulling himself out of his typical (adorable) slouch when she looked his way. She sometimes had a way of complimenting Q that was vaguely insulting, like she didn’t expect much from him. He’d also seen her roll her eyes more than once when Quentin was cuddled up next to him on the couch, and the looks she gave Eliot in those moments were strangely cool, like she knew he’d eventually give Quentin up for someone easier to deal with, and that she’d always be around, ready to pick up the pieces. Saint fucking Julia, the martyr to Quentin’s depression.

_ Weren’t there this time, were you, bitch?  _ he silently growled to himself. 

Something shattered on the dresser and Eliot cursed in the dark. Quentin mumbled something against his skin, and Eliot smoothed his hair, hoping he wouldn’t wake.

_ El. _

Christ, he hated this spell. Sliding one finger over the other, he responded.  _ Sorry, Bambi. _

_ You’re not going tomorrow. _

He rolled his eyes. Apparently, they were going to continue the argument they’d started while Quentin was showering. Except now he had to perform a fucking tut every two sentences.  _ I don’t want you going alone. _

_ Which is the single most sexist thing you’ve ever said OR thought at me. _

Deep breaths.  _ It’s not sexist, you’d be going in blind. _

_ But you can?  _

Christ, he was getting a headache. He reached out with his mind and called a cigarette to his lips, sparking it with a snap and inhaling deeply. 

When he didn’t respond, Margo felt free to continue.  _ I need you to handle the Julia of it. I’ll eviscerate her.  _

He smirked.  _ Don’t make my dick hard while I’m cuddling our favorite nerd. _

_ Like it’s not already. Guess dreams do come true.  _ A beat.  _ That was shitty. _

_ No worries.  _

It was the other thing keeping Eliot awake, and he accepted the shame fully. It was something he so rarely felt, after all. The fact that he had dreamed of this, so many times. And now it was happening. He had Quentin in his bed, half naked and nuzzling his skin, and his hair was so soft, and… he felt almost responsible for what had happened, just because he’d wished for this moment. It felt almost justified that Eliot had to let go of his dream of somehow worming his way into Quentin’s affections. After tonight, he was fairly sure Q would never want to think of another man’s dick again. 

There was a knock on the door, and Quentin groaned softly against his shoulder.

“What the absolute fuck,” Margo hissed, hurrying out of bed to answer it. 

Eliot barely glimpsed Penny of all people standing in the hall before Margo was gone, the door closed. 

“Whazzit?” Quentin mumbled and Eliot smiled fondly, exhaling a cloud of smoke. 

“Nothing for you to worry about, Q.” He laughed silently when Quentin clumsily groped for the cigarette in Eliot’s hand. Indulgently, he held it to Quentin’s mouth himself, felt him inhale against his ribs and exhale against his skin, and Eliot let himself shiver at the sensation. He took the last drag for himself before using his free hand to crush it in the ashtray. He felt Quentin’s toes poke at his calf, and then press a bit harder. “Why are you awake, and what are you doing?”

“Why… are you so tall?” Quentin asked sleepily. “Like, there’s a whole other foot of you, or something.” 

Eliot chuckled. “I’d say fabulous genetics but honestly, that’s a shit show. I think I had a really tall great-grandfather or something. There was a picture somewhere, I think.” 

“Mm. Was he pretty, too?”

A small, surprised smile lit in Eliot’s eyes. “I don’t… think so?” he mused. “What about you? How’d you get so pretty, Q?”

“‘M not.”

Eliot pulled him closer, unable to help himself, but Quentin came easily, almost eagerly, and he held his breath when Q’s leg moved to lay over his own. His arm followed, stretching across Eliot’s chest before his hand settled below his neck. Eliot immediately covered it with his own, not wanting Quentin to second guess himself or pull away. He’d quickly learned that the man was all but starved for touch, but never asked for it, so Eliot gave it any time he had the excuse. They called him their puppy, but Quentin was much more like an affectionate stray cat, leaning in to every touch, but wary of it at the same time. 

Margo returned after a few more moments, moving quietly until she was settled back into bed on Quentin’s other side. 

_ Penny knows. Q’s wards are down. _

_ Of course they are,  _ Eliot answered silently, keeping his hand moving over Quentin’s hair, thinking he was probably still a little bit awake. 

_ El, he knows who did it. _

Eliot almost sat up at that, stopping himself just before he actually moved.  _ Who? _

There was a long moment, and Eliot thought Margo wasn’t going to answer.  _ Mark Davidson. _

He squeezed his eyes shut to prevent himself from squeezing Quentin, from setting the bed on fire, from… he didn’t know what. 

Eliot had experienced his own run-in with Mark his first year. Mark had graduated a couple of years before, but had been invited to one of the Physical Kids parties by someone. Eliot had been infatuated with him immediately. He’d been older, beautifully and expensively dressed, and had whispered fluent Italian into Eliot’s ear. Once in Eliot’s bedroom, however, things had gone to hell within five minutes, and Eliot had shown the man what growing up getting your ass handed to you on a daily basis could teach someone. Mark had left the party with a bruised jaw and aching balls. 

Trying to order his thoughts, Eliot performed the tut against Q’s hair.  _ Why was he with a group of hedges? _

_ No idea. I asked Penny to keep his mouth shut and try to keep Julia busy tomorrow. _

_ That’s not going to work. She thinks Q’s her wandering pet.  _ A quick slide of his fingers again.  _ Don’t hit me while he’s sleeping, but I really don’t relish the thought of you going after him alone. _

_ I’m not going to,  _ she admitted.  _ We need a plan first. _

_ Agreed. So, just focus on Julia tomorrow? _

_ Deal.  _ With that, Margo rolled away from them, and Eliot closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

*

_ Quentin _

_ He sees Mark closing in, his face just inches away, and suddenly he is not ready, wants to leave, wonders what room Julia is in. “I…” He looks away, towards the door. _

_ “Am I not holding your attention?” Mark asks lightly, while Quentin wonders where everyone else went. Hadn’t the room been full before? Was this even the same room? How many drinks had he had since the bar? _

_ “I’ll back off,” Mark all but purrs with a smile, sitting back a bit. “You’re looking a little overwhelmed.” _

_ “Uh, yeah. I think I’m a little wasted, sorry. I should find Julia. I may just get a cab back or something.” _

_ There’s a moment of confusion when his legs won’t cooperate, only jerking slightly when he tries to stand. He chuckles a little, embarrassed, but when he tries again, he sees the amused quirk of Mark’s mouth. He tries to speak, and suddenly he… can’t. The room is spinning and he can’t move. Why can’t he  _ move? 

_ Mark speaks, but he doesn’t understand the words as his empty glass is taken from his hand, the ice clinking against the side. _

_ A hand is in his hair. It’s rough and selfish and nothing like he imagined it might be, like he knew it could be, and Mark’s lips are-- it’s like he’s trying to eat him, and he’s falling, and he can’t  _ breathe.

_ The air is frigid against his skin.  _

_ He’s pushed and pulled and positioned and his chin strikes the floor and he tastes blood.  _

_ And it hurts, and it hurts, and it  _ hurts,  _ oh so fucking  _ much,  _ and he can feel the tears on his face, the only part of him that can move as his jaw grinds against the floor and he has a giddy thought that he might get carpet burn, and how would he explain that? _

“Q.”

_ And he still can’t move, but the pain is more distant now, cloudy, and he’s warm and he can smell Eliot. And Eliot can’t see him like this, can’t know how stupid he is, how weak and-- _

“Wake up,  _ please?” _

“El, just shake him, for fuck’s sake!”

_ Wake…? _

Quentin inhaled harshly, his hand scrabbling for something firm, and when he felt fingers squeezing his own, he pulled them tightly to his chest, because he knew where he was now, and thank  _ fuck.  _ “I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes against his tears, quickly realizing it was too late; he’d already been crying. 

He opened them, looking directly into Eliot’s eyes, wild with something he’d never seen before. He let out a trembling little sigh when he felt a small hand skate over his back and plant itself firmly on his belly. He’d woken Margo, too. “Fuck,” he whispered. 

He felt two hands in his hair, gentle but firm, grounding him, reminding him he was safe. Margo nuzzled his shoulder, careful to avoid his bandages and hummed sleepily. 

“I… I can go back to my room,” he offered, hating how reluctant and pleading he sounded. “You should be able to sleep, then.”

He felt Eliot’s leg slide over his, pulling it between his own. “Consider yourself our hostage. Smoke, since we’re awake and all?”

Quentin nodded and tried not to look impressed as Eliot just lifted his hand, waiting for the cigarette and snapped his fingers a moment later, igniting it. He leaned back slightly, so as not to blow smoke in Q’s face. Again, Eliot offered him the cigarette without actually giving it to him, doing the same for Margo when she propped her head on Quentin’s shoulder for a draw. 

He jumped slightly as all three phones trilled on Eliot’s nightstand, and Eliot rolled onto his back to silence them all. He reached for one of the prescription bottles, sitting up to shake a pill into his hand, and Quentin’s eyes roamed over the broad expanse of his back, the wild curls of his hair. He’d never really seen Eliot look… rumpled. Barely dressed yes, but he’d always looked so put together. 

Eliot turned, offering him a pain pill and a bottle of water, and Quentin sat up enough to swallow both. “It’s already been four hours?” 

“Yeah, it’s almost 9:30.” He sighed, looking towards Margo. “We should probably get the stuff for the spell.”

“Ugh,” Margo complained, but sat up. Quentin smiled at her tangled curls and smeared mascara. 

“Shut it, Coldwater,” she warned, slapping lightly at his chest, but she was smiling. “I wake up fabulous.” 

“Actually, it’s not a bad look,” he admitted.

“I don’t have a bad look,” she told him, getting out of bed to start searching through Eliot’s dresser like it was her own. 

“Um, what spell?” Quentin asked.

“The telepathy one,” Eliot replied. “What did you call it?”

“Sending,” Margo snorted, muttering something about dungeon masters. “Do you have any sand?” she asked, picking up a glass bottle and shaking it. 

“Bottom drawer, in the back.” Eliot reclined, blowing smoke into the air before passing the cigarette to Quentin and looking up at him. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to change your bandages again, when we’re done.”

“Yeah, okay.” He wondered what would happen after that. He was still so  _ tired.  _ But the house would be waking up soon if it wasn’t already, and Julia and Kady would be heading back to campus. There would be so much to deal with, so much to explain, and he…

Eliot plucked the cigarette from his fingers. “You’re thinking very loudly. Share?”

Quentin hugged his arms around his chest. “I just… I don’t really know how to handle today, you know?”

Margo turned from her inventory of Eliot’s dresser. “You aren’t handling shit today,” she informed him with a stern look.

“But Julia…”

Eliot sat up again, passing the cigarette. “One of us will talk to Julia, and one of us will stay with you. We’ll probably have to come and go, but you won’t be by yourself.” His eyes looked distant for a moment. “Unless you  _ want  _ to see Julia, and then, by all means, I guess.”

Quentin’s brow furrowed, studying Eliot’s face. “Are you… mad at her?”

Eliot’s eyes darted up to meet his, and Quentin watched an array of things pass through them before he answered. “I’m not… thrilled with the fact--”

“Oh, grow a pair,” Margo interrupted, and Quentin looked to see her with her hand on her hip. “Yeah, we’re fucking pissed, Q.”

“W-Why?” He absently felt Eliot take the cigarette from his fingers again, followed by a sharp rush of air. 

“Look, we get she’s your BFF or whatever, but she left you  _ alone,  _ in a place where neither of you knew fucking anybody, and those people had magic? Hedges are like the fucking junkies of magic. I get she has a huge boner for anything spell-related but it was a dick move.”

Quentin felt his throat tighten, felt some weird impulse to defend Julia try to bubble up from him, and he just… couldn’t. Were they right? He tried to imagine if Julia had disappeared with a guy in the middle of a party full of strangers, and… he would have noticed. He was sure of it. He would have  _ worried,  _ he would have looked for her…

And she still hadn’t called.

“M-Maybe something happened to her too?” he asked. “A-And even Kady. I should call, or at least text her, or something…” He took several quick breaths. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room suddenly. 

He felt Eliot’s hand on the back of his neck. Not holding or pinching, or… Just there. “Q. Let’s do this spell. And then I’ll call her, okay? I’ll go look for her, I promise. I’ll let you know.”

Quentin nodded quickly. “Okay. Yeah.” He let Eliot help him out of bed, wincing at the soreness that seemed so much deeper and present than it had the night before. 

He joined his friends in the middle of the room, watching as Margo tapped sand out of the bottle. It was a strange charcoal color as she spilled it in a circle around their feet. 

Eliot tapped his chin, away from his stitches, bringing his attention up. “Watch my hands,” he instructed, and Quentin did so as Eliot performed a series of tuts, quick and graceful. He did it again, and then tilted his chin for Quentin to copy him.

Taking a deep breath, Quentin brought his fingers up to form a triangle, the rest bent. Straightened them. Angled his hands flat, curled his them up except for his index fingers and thumbs. Brought his middle fingers together at the knuckles, and missed slightly.

“Almost,” Eliot said calmly.

Shaking his fingers, Quentin tried again, his knuckles meeting cleanly this time before he brought his index fingers in to point towards his chest. Eliot smiled.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Margo ordered, and both men turned towards her, the three of them forming a triangle within the circle of sand and…. Goose feathers? 

“El, why do you have goose down hidden in your dresser?”

Eliot lifted a shoulder casually. “Sometimes my pillows get angry.”

Quentin shook his head and then brought his focus towards the spell. He brought his hands up with his friends, and in perfect unison their fingers danced through the tuts. It was so simple, really, and he didn’t feel any different once it was over. 

“Okay, now this part’s easy,” Eliot told him, holding his hand in front of Q’s face. He crossed his middle finger over his index and drew it up towards the knuckle. “Anytime you need to send a message, just do that. We’ll both hear you.”

“But not like a novel,” Margo added. “A sentence or two is all it can handle, so if you’ve got something to really say, you’ll have to keep doing it.”

“O-Okay. Try it, maybe?”

Margo and Eliot exchanged a quick glance, and Eliot nodded, sliding his finger in Quentin’s line of sight. 

_ You snore, Q. Like, fucking hell do you snore. _

Quentin laughed in surprise, but couldn’t keep the grin from blooming on his face. Not only could he  _ hear  _ Eliot, but he could feel his magic. Like crisp autumn leaves and freshly tilled earth, and something else… something sweet and sinful like a decadent dessert that he couldn’t quite place. He hadn’t gone into that much detail the night before when Eliot had asked. He’d just mumbled “autumn,” but it had made Eliot smile.

“Now you,” Margo told him. Quentin nodded, sliding his own fingers together.  _ Only when I'm heavily medicated, asshole,  _ he clarified, glaring playfully up at his friend. 

Eliot grinned. “Brat.”

  
  
  
  



	5. The Best Of A Bad Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Soon You'll Get Better" by Taylor Swift and The Dixie Chicks. Not my usual style of music at all, but when I heard it and thought of Julia and Quentin, I got a little weepy lol.

_ Margo _

Once the remnants of their spell work were disposed of, Margo ushered Q back to the bed in order to refresh his bandages. As she opened packages of fresh gauze, she watched Eliot grab a pair of underwear, presumably to take into the bathroom with him.  _ Stuff me sideways, I’d kill for a shower,  _ she thought, but said nothing. Her turn would come. 

There was a nervous energy to her best friend she didn’t see often, but she’d seen it enough to know his thoughts were running at a faster pace than they needed to be. And if he wound himself up too much, he was going to lose another one of his precious crystal decanters. From over Quentin’s shoulder, she caught his eye pointedly. She didn’t need telepathy to tell him to get it together and spit it out.

Eliot sighed quickly, stopping at the end of the bed. “So, the plan is to call Julia. Set something up  _ away  _ from the cottage. I just…” He looked to Quentin, a rare uncertainty in his eyes. “I need to know, I guess, my limits on this?”

“Limits?” Quentin asked, squirming a little under Margo’s touch as she pulled at a stubborn bit of tape.

“I don’t really know how much you’re comfortable with me… revealing.”

It was Margo’s turn to sigh, much more heavily. Boys and their stupid fucking  _ feelings.  _ “Q, do you want her to know what happened or not?” God, like it was hard to just speak fucking words.

Quentin went still under her hands as Eliot gave Margo a barely restrained glare of exasperation.

“I, uh. I mean I’d like to not have to deal with that, sure. But it kind of feels like a cop out, you know? I-It should be me. Besides, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You haven’t asked me to do anything,” Eliot assured him, the surety returning to his eyes. “I’m offering. And honestly, some of it is for the purely selfish reason that it may keep her from bulldozing her way in here. No one needs that right now.”

“I just… I feel like I’m letting you do everything for me. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Fair?” Margo asked, shaking her head as she started on another bandage. “I’m not gonna talk shit about your friend. At least, not right now. But friendship ain’t about fair, not in my world.” She neatly pressed a piece of tape over a square of gauze. “That’s not how El and I work. If one of us can’t handle our own particular brand of shit, the other one picks up the slack until we can. We figure it out. No one owes anyone shit.” Eliot nodded in silent agreement.

Quentin sighed. “Yeah, but you two mostly  _ have  _ your shit together, is the difference.”

Margo met Eliot’s eyes, his expression just as incredulous as hers, and that was all it took for them to both burst out laughing. Quentin startled in surprise and Margo absently petted his hair in apology. 

“Oh Q,” Eliot sighed breathlessly when his laughter died down. “You’re looking at the two most spectacular trainwrecks to ever grace the halls of this establishment. Or at least, I assume so. I’d love to find out otherwise.” He took a breath to steady himself for a performance, leaving his underwear at the end of the bed to grab Quentin’s phone. 

Finished with Quentin’s injuries, Margo gathered the medical supplies back in their bag and stole one of El’s cigarettes before leaning back against his headboard. To his credit, Eliot looked fairly casual as he found Julia’s number in the phone and pressed it to his ear. 

“Hi, Julia. Not Q. Obviously, I guess,” Eliot spoke once she picked up. Margo saw Quentin begin to squirm on the bed, and she lightly grabbed his arm, pulling him to lay back beside her. “Oh, because he’s not there anymore. He’s here, has been since last night.” Margo watched in interest as Eliot’s eyes darkened. Anyone else probably wouldn’t have seen the carefully banked anger that was clear to her. “Well, I assume he had several of those, or maybe just one really long one, but I thought it’d be rude to ask? Anyway, never mind that. You and I need to have a chat.” His eyebrows rose slightly as he listened to whatever Julia was saying. “Actually, he doesn’t. Kind of why I called.” Another long pause, and Margo passed the cigarette to Quentin when he motioned for it. 

Margo was dying to know what Julia had said once Eliot’s eyes turned cruel, a slight sneer appearing on his lips. It was his sexiest face, in her opinion. “Look, Q needed a friend last night, not a fucking baby-sitter,” he spat. “Meet me at the library in an hour. Or don’t. Just don’t think of trying to worm your way into the cottage today.” Eliot ended the call, tossing Quentin’s phone onto the bed. “Well, that’s over with.”

“Think she’ll show?” Margo asked as Eliot retrieved his underwear again.

“Oh, I think so. To get a status report, if nothing else.”

“What did she say?” Quentin asked, his voice small and hesitant. Margo felt a quiet fury at the sound of it. 

Eliot looked uneasy for a quick moment before replying. “Well, she didn’t know you weren’t there. Sounded like I woke her up, actually. She thought you bailed because of a panic attack or something, and she got catty when I let her know you weren’t up for talking to her, trying to tell me how to handle you when you’re ‘like that.’” He smirked a little. “I was this close to telling her I had my eye on you all night, in my  _ bed,  _ but I spared your honor at the last second. You’re welcome.”

Eliot sauntered into his private bathroom before Quentin could say anything, obviously running away from any issues Quentin might have with his handling of the situation. Margo just barely kept her laughter in check. 

“You okay?” she forced herself to ask as Quentin passed the cigarette back to her, almost spent. 

“Uh… yeah? I mean, Jules can come on kind of strong, a-and I don’t think she gets that she’s not my only friend anymore. I get that, it was just me and her for so long. But I think El did okay, considering.” 

“Yeah.” She shifted her head to look at him. “You think you can handle a few minutes alone? If you can’t, I’ll deal, but I’d literally shank a small child for a shower right now.”

Quentin looked mildly alarmed but laughed. “Uh, yeah. I’m good.”

“Promise?”

He rolled his eyes. “El’s like twenty feet away. I think I can handle it, yeah. I don’t promise to be awake when you come back, though. These pain pills are kicking my ass.”

“Then sleep, dummy,” she said gently, leaning over to smack a kiss on his cheek before escaping the smoky room. She waved her hand in a quick spell to dissipate it on her way out.

*

_ Eliot _

When Eliot left the bathroom in a fog of steam, wearing nothing but his underwear, he chuckled softly to see Quentin starfished across his bed, asleep and alone.

_ Where are you, Bambi? _

_ Rubbing one out in the shower. Fuck off. _

_ Jesus. That’s… fair.  _ Eliot shook his head and stepped quietly towards his closet to examine his wardrobe. What would convey intimidating yet responsible?  _ Hmmm… scary Daddy,  _ Eliot mused with an amused tilt of his lips, scanning his choices. He also didn’t want to expend too much effort. He wouldn’t be gone long, and honestly, he didn’t find Julia worth his time at the moment. 

Deciding on one of his most fitted dress shirts, in a lovely iridescent gray, it was quick work to coordinate the rest. He knotted his tie and made sure his hair fell perfectly before pulling out the final piece-- his black merino pea coat. 

Eliot was relieved to meet Margo in the hall, on her way back to his bedroom. “Leave her in one piece,” she advised. “Our boy likes her for some reason.”

“Efforts will be made, but no promises,” he quipped, turning to descend the stairs. 

The outside air was biting as he made his way to the library, making him wonder when the weather control spells would be fixed and who had fucked them up in the first place, but he spotted Julia waiting for him in her own wool coat, although she’d apparently had the sense to add a scarf and a beanie that was almost fashionable, if beanies could be any such thing.

She raced towards him as soon as she saw him, her brow fixed in a stern expression. “Eliot, what the hell is going on? Do you know how fucked up you’re acting?” She rolled her eyes a bit. “Not like that’s anything new, really, with you.”

“Noted,” he replied calmly, his hands in his pockets. “I have a question of my own before I can answer any of yours.” 

She looked momentarily furious before settling into a resigned glare. “Fine.”

“What the fuck were you even thinking? Hedges?”

She scoffed, angry and incredulous as she glared up at him. “God, you’re so elitist. So they didn’t make the cut for magic school. So what? They’re still magicians; it’s not like we’re better than they are.”

“You’re right, it’s a fucked up class system. But that doesn’t mean people don’t end up abiding by it. Most hedges are junkies and hookers for spells. Trust me, I know.”

She sneered at him. “I’ll just bet you do. But nothing happened. We drank, we partied, we exchanged a few spells. We even maybe made some new friends. I don’t know what happened with Q. He was having a good time when I saw him last, but he just… does that sometimes. If he’d told me, I would have come back with him, but he doesn’t like to draw attention to himself when he’s freaking out. I don’t get why he’s mad at me about it, but you don’t need to play mediator here.” 

“Oh,  _ that’s _ what I’m doing,” he chuckled dryly. “Sure. Um, so I’m just going to tell you this. And it’s not to hurt you, but know that I don’t care if it does. You and Kady left Q alone last night, and someone dosed him with a paralysis spell.” Julia’s brow wrinkled, the vindictive glint disappearing from her eyes. “He was raped, Julia. Brutally, I have to add.” Her breath hitched. “And it was just pure dumb luck I even heard him come in last night, but Margo and I got him checked out and cleaned up. I can’t honestly think of what might have happened if we hadn’t found him.”

Her lip was trembling now, and Eliot just didn’t  _ care.  _ “You went out into that world, thinking it was the same as before you knew about magic, and it’s not. You’re not the smartest girl in class anymore. Some of those people deserve magic as much as we do, and it sucks they don’t get to have it. But some of those people made the cut, once upon a time. Some even graduated. Not everyone gets caught for the fucked up shit they do. Did you meet Marina? She’s still in the city, right?” Eliot smiled somewhat cruelly when he saw the recognition in Julia’s eyes. “She got kicked out for putting people into nightmare hallucinations and then transferring their magic to herself while they couldn’t fight her for it. She fucking manipulated them into  _ giving  _ it to her. Fogg was barely able to take her down. It’s one of the many Brakebills scary stories to tell in the dark. One of the people she did that to killed herself in a psych ward. And the guy that raped Q? He’s a mentor here. And a donor.”

Julia was trembling at this point, the color leeched from her face. “W-We need to tell Fogg,” she rasped.

“It’s on the table, but not until Quentin is ready to consent to it.”

_ “What?  _ You can’t be serious, this needs to be handled  _ now!” _

Eliot stepped close to her, practically breathing into her face. He wasn’t about to let her ride in on her self-righteous white horse when this was partially her fault to begin with. “It’s being handled, while you were nowhere. You don’t get to step in now and take his choices away.” He stepped back, straightening himself to his full height. “When Q’s ready to see you, I will happily step aside because I don’t make his choices for him. But I will protect him from you if I have to, so  _ don’t _ go behind my back.”

Her eyes searched his face, full of grief and fear. “Does he… is he blaming me for this?”

Eliot rolled his own eyes. “No,” he admitted. “That’s me. And Margo. He hasn’t been exactly verbose about everything, but in the time I’ve known you and Q, I know that you push. You push him to do what you want, and you push him to feel better, and he hasn’t said the exact words, no, but he’s not in a place to be pushed right now. That’s all. And Lipson would probably give him all the time he needs out of class, but the plan now is for him to go back on Tuesday. You’ll see him then, if not before.”

Julia looked utterly lost and so… fucking bereft as she stared out onto the lawn, silent for so long that Eliot nearly walked away before she finally spoke. “I thought…”

“You thought what?” 

Her eyes met his. “I thought he was… entertainment for you. I don’t know, like the cute little nerd who ate up your attention so you’d give it to him until you got tired of it. I didn’t know you actually cared about anything. So I guess thanks for that, anyway.”

Eliot blew out a short breath. “Most things aren’t worth caring about. Q’s not… one of them. We care.”

She nodded, looking defeated, and he saw the faintest sheen of tears in her eyes. “Well, can I at least tell you some things that might help so I can maybe sleep tonight?”

He thought of denying her. Why did she deserve to sleep, and why was it his responsibility? But it wasn’t like he had to listen. “Go for it.”

She sniffled as she gathered her thoughts. “Um… if he gets bad, he won’t want to eat. He will if you force him, but he’ll be a shit about it. He can actually be a shit about everything if he gets really bad. He gets sullen a-and he isolates. Sometimes he can even be cruel about it, but not often. He usually only got that bad before he was admitted. Because by that time, he’d planned it all out, you know? He was just trying to push people away, o-or convince himself that if he forced people out, they wouldn’t hurt as much when he was gone.”

Eliot blinked, swallowing against the burn in his throat. He hadn’t been prepared to hear this, or to see Julia’s heart in her eyes as she tried to remember every detail she thought he needed to know in her absence. 

“It’s easiest to give him, like, components of food instead of actual meals. I don’t know why. But if you just, like, set out apple slices, he’ll eat without even being asked, as long as he can reach them. Basically anything he can just grab with one hand and shove in his mouth. If you hand him water, he’ll drink it, but just set it back down, so it’s better to share with him.” She suddenly looked unsure of all the words that had just exploded from her, but Eliot nodded for her to continue.

“He also gets super paranoid about people, but he won’t say anything. He’ll question everything you say and do. It’s probably best not to worry about it too much, but if he gets squirrely, that’s usually what’s wrong. You can’t really predict what he’ll read into. He’s bad about getting out of his own head all the time, but it’s worse when he’s really depressed. He’ll read for two days straight and not sleep or shower. And he gets really shitty if you try to force him out of it.”

“We’ve already had some experience with that,” Eliot admitted. “But Margo has a firm hand.”

Julia actually smirked at that. “I don’t doubt that. But I can’t think of anything else right now. If… will you let me know if there’s a problem?”

Eliot conceded with a small nod. “There may be a question or two, if things head in that direction.”

“O-Okay, good. I-I know you hate me.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

That crooked grin again. Eliot could almost see why Quentin had harboured a hopeless crush on this woman for so long, though he was loathe to admit it. “Well, whatever it is. Thanks. I won’t go to Fogg unless Q is okay with it. Promise.”

“Good. I, um… I’d like to get back to him, if we’re done here. Margo loves him, but she’s not careful with her belongings.”

Julia let out a watery giggle at that. “You are both  _ so  _ strange. But I’m glad he has you. Really.”

“We’re glad we have him too,” Eliot told her before smiling somewhat awkwardly and turning away to return home.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you all again for all the amazing comments. I hadn't written anything for years when I started on this, and I only posted after a lot of gentle bullying from one of the few people I was emailing chapters to. I'm glad there are people who are enjoying it. This is my first Magicians fic, and I'm hoping there will be more in the future.


	6. Right In Front Of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "I Found" by Amber Run.
> 
> I'm posting two chapters today, because this chapter is the shortest in the entire story. Hope you enjoy!

_ Eliot _

Eliot was bristling with anxiety by the time he returned to his room, and he was relieved to see that Quentin was sleeping deeply, his limbs stretched across the mattress. Margo was next to him, seated against the headboard, her eyes on her phone, but she looked up when he entered. Eliot tilted his head towards the hall, silently asking her to join him.

He tried not to smile or even notice how carefully Margo removed herself from his bed, walking quickly and quietly before she closed the door to face him. “So?”

“It went… okay. I’m sad to report that I may despise her slightly less now. What she said could be helpful. Probably.”

“Like what?”

“Just… the easiest ways to handle him, I guess?” Eliot ran his fingers through his curls. “I hate saying that, but we can’t just let him rot because he wants us to.”

“It may not come to that, El. We don’t know. But what are the next steps here?”

“Uh. Food? We can try something here, but she did give me advice in case he’s not keen on eating.”

“Okay, well if we can’t get food in him, we’ll try Julia’s way,” Margo agreed. “But I think we should let him sleep until it’s time for his pill.”

Eliot rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “We should all fucking sleep. Christ.”

“No lie, but I think I’ve gotten the most out of the three of us. I’ll handle shit until tonight, including food. But then I’m sleeping, in my own fucking bed.” She brushed her fingers lightly down the front of his vest. “You’re better at all the cuddly shit, anyway.” She stood on her tiptoes, and Eliot knelt slightly as always to allow her to kiss his cheek. “Get a nap, I’ll bring lunch later.”

Eliot could only nod, cupping the side of her face for a moment in thanks before slipping into his room without her. It felt different to see Quentin in there now, without Margo. 

A few hours earlier, he’d had his rage to focus on. And while it was still very present, something else was trying to crawl its way up from his gut, had been since he’d seen the naked despair in Julia’s eyes, borne from something Eliot was familiar with when it came to Quentin, but never gave himself the freedom to fully acknowledge.

And fuck, how could Quentin and Julia just  _ feel  _ things like that? How did they allow that pain space? It was no fucking wonder Q was depressed. And he understood depression was brain chemistry, or what the fuck ever, but still. It couldn’t  _ help. _

Eliot didn’t have the time for that, or the inclination. He’d felt things for years, and vaguely remembered the vulnerable boy he’d been, in another life. Letting someone see you like that, the raw and meaty  _ insides  _ of you. It never ended in anything remotely good. The one exception in his life was Margo. His Bambi, who possibly loathed emotional vulnerability more than him. It’s how they worked. 

But Quentin was a… complication. Eliot frowned guiltily at the thought as he removed his leather boots and stepped out of his pants, folding them neatly to place on the dresser before he started undoing the buttons of his vest. He’d been smitten with Q from the start, but hadn’t allowed himself to ponder over the fact that it had so quickly gone sideways from his other nerdy conquests. Because if he was being honest with himself in this moment of solitude, Quentin had ripped the rug out from under him, leaving Eliot feeling like he’d been the one conquered. 

On the surface, Quentin had fit so neatly in the box Eliot had labeled for him. Repressed, achingly heterosexual supernerd with abysmal social skills. Easy prey, and oh, how Eliot shuddered at that thought now. How many awkward young men had he charmed the pants off of and then smilingly ushered them out of his room the next morning? Or more often, the next hour? Though his heart had stuttered in strange new ways at the sight of Quentin Coldwater, Eliot had never planned for things to go any differently. 

But those plans had been abandoned quickly, because Quentin had just kept acting outside of his assigned role. Yes, he was awkward, but he never seemed all that bothered to be called out on it. He blushed, but stood his ground. So, while teasing him was fun, it took one of Eliot’s perfectly crafted tactics away, and he found himself only teasing Quentin because his blush was fucking criminal. 

And touching Quentin had once had a goal as well, in those first days. For Eliot, it was an easy way to test his limits, to gauge a man’s interest. If a casual touch of the hand went successfully, he moved on, and with each small success, he moved faster. He didn’t like to waste his time. 

But Quentin didn’t react predictably, and Eliot had so often been left floundering. Sometimes Q would startle or stammer at the lightest brush of Eliot’s hand on his shoulder, but sometimes he would practically crawl into his lap, all but begging to be held. And while he always seemed a bit embarrassed by it afterwards, it never stopped him from doing it again when he felt the need. And Eliot didn’t know what was behind that need, and it drove him mad. 

Slipping his shirt off, Eliot quickly found a clean pair of sleep pants and slipped them up over his hips. He considered a shirt, but Quentin hadn’t seemed bothered by his bare chest before, so he chose to be comfortable instead. The pants were awful enough. 

Quentin had completely commandeered Eliot’s usual spot in his own bed, so he carefully climbed in on the other side, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, swallowing the burn in his throat. That feeling… he was doing a shitty job of ignoring it. He wanted the anger back so badly. 

But he knew. He’d  _ known.  _ Known exactly what he felt, what it meant, what he  _ wanted _ , and had been so terrified of it that he’d never even really confessed it to Margo, not even in the sarcastic manner they confessed all other things. Because it didn’t fit with their fucking  _ aesthetic.  _ He loved Margo with all his heart, but when it came to avoiding things, they were each other’s best enablers. 

And now… he’d lost his chance. Eliot had taken it all for granted, believing he had time, or convincing himself he had all he needed, and asking for more would fuck it all up.

He closed his eyes, feeling the tears slide across his skin, and for once he just allowed himself to be weak. Because Quentin would wake up eventually and need him. 

And Eliot would be there. Always.

He just needed a minute.


	7. Goner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song by Twenty-One Pilots.

_ Quentin _

Quentin took a quick, deep breath as he rose from sleep, only momentarily confused before reality fell into place all at once. He was grateful Eliot’s scent permeated his room, because the weight of the man himself wrapped around Quentin’s back might have sent him scrambling otherwise. As it was, Quentin wasn’t bothered by it. Of course someone as tactile as Eliot would seek the same in his sleep. 

He took a moment to enjoy the warmth of the embrace, cracking his eyes open to slits to see Eliot’s pale arm draped around his middle, his rings still on his fingers. He found it sadly funny that a few days ago, this situation would have sent his heart into the stratosphere. Not that anything had changed with his heart. There were just… complications now, making themselves known by throbbing and stinging throughout his body. He wanted to be here, just not for this reason. 

Quentin had his boldest moments when he wasn’t thinking at all, and as he mused over sleeping more or giving in to his need to leave the bed for the bathroom, his hand idly reached for Eliot’s, tracing over his knuckles, mindlessly seeking comfort. 

He felt a small whiff of air against his neck and a very uncharacteristic whine issue from Eliot’s throat. “Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he apologized, but his fingers just kept moving, seemingly without his permission.

Eliot stilled, and Quentin tiredly rolled his eyes at the sudden tension he felt in the bed. He was so goddamn  _ tired.  _

“Q…”

Eliot made the slightest move to pull away, and Quentin held him there by his fingers. “Don’t?” he pleaded, though his tone was dull.

“Don’t… what?”

“Just… I’m not glass, Eliot. I’m not going to flinch if you touch me. I’m actually, probably, going to be pissed if you don’t, okay?” 

He felt Eliot’s trembling breath against the nape of his neck. It surprised him sometimes, that Eliot Waugh felt actual emotions, and he always felt shitty over that surprise, because he knew better. 

“S-Sorry,” Eliot said softly. “Q, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what to  _ do.”  _

Quentin grabbed his hand tightly, a little bemused by the way Eliot scrambled to entwine their fingers together, squeezing firmly. If he’d felt anything like himself, he would have analyzed that for days. 

“Look, I’m… a lot of things right now. I’m… god, sad? I guess? I’m in pain and i-it’s not the kind where it’s like a bruise that you don’t remember how you got it. It’s the kind where you only got it one fucking way and it reminds you every time your heart beats, and I’m so fucking pissed off at myself I can’t stand it. But I didn’t want Julia here because… she’d fight me on it. She wouldn’t allow me to be mad at myself, and I just need to be allowed to feel this shit, or I’m going to fucking spiral, a-and if that happens…” He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the sob that wanted to escape. Eliot felt it hiccup through him, however, and pulled him closer. “And if you want things to change, that’s fine, but I don’t. I know we’re… weird? You and Margo are the weirdest fucking people I’ve ever met in my life, but also just, the best. And if you don’t feel like you can touch me like this, I get it, but it’s not going to help me. I don’t want things to change.”

Eliot was silent for a long moment. “Can I ask a question? You don’t have to answer.”

“You can always ask, El. There’s a lot of your questions that I don’t answer.”

Eliot chuckled softly against his skin. “Fair. Why the fuck are you pissed at yourself? I’m not asking for details, just… broad strokes.”

Keeping their hands entwined, Quentin rolled onto his back, shifting to relieve the pressure on more painful areas. Eliot rested their hands on Quentin’s chest, and though he could feel his eyes on him, Quentin stared up at the ceiling. “I’m not blaming myself. At least I don’t think I am. But… it was just so stupid. God, can I have another cigarette?”

“Hm. Only because you can’t drink,” Eliot allowed, and Quentin listened to him fumble one from his pack and the snap of his fingers before he placed it into Q’s free hand. 

Quentin took a deep drag that burned his throat. “I was… curious. I wasn’t really interested in him, you know? But he was interested in me, to the point I couldn’t really ignore it, which is, like…”

“I get it,” Eliot interjected, plucking the cigarette from his fingers. “Your obliviousness has been observed more than once.”

“Yeah, so… I just thought, what’s the harm? Fuck.” He laughed harshly. “And it’s utter bullshit and completely sexist but this isn’t something I ever even considered happening to me. Getting mugged or something, sure, but… not anything like this. Which makes me feel stupid, but now that I think about it, he was completely fucking creepy. And the whole time, I was just treating it as some kind of fucking sexuality experiment. Gimme that.” He looked away from the ceiling long enough to take his smoke back from Eliot, who only lifted one casual eyebrow in response to his bossy tone. Quentin didn’t fail to notice the practiced move was at total odds with the tension in his expression. 

“So basically, you thought you might be having bi thoughts, and this is what you got for it?” Eliot asked, his voice carefully calm but slightly rough. Quentin kept finding himself caught off guard by this unpolished version of his friend he kept catching glimpses of.

“I mean, I’ve always had ‘bi thoughts.’ I just thought maybe I’d do something with them? I don’t know. More or less.”

“That fucking sucks, Q. I’m sorry.”

“Um, thank you. I just… can we not be weird now?”

“I thought the weirdness was a positive?”

Quentin chuckled, finally meeting Eliot’s gaze. “You’re an asshole,” he said fondly.

Eliot grinned. “I am, aren’t I?” His expression turned more serious. “You didn’t sleep much again.”

“It’s… hard to. Every time I move the wrong way, I wake up. It’ll just take time, I guess.”

Eliot nodded, accepting that. “Margo’s bringing food in a bit. And I did talk to Julia, and she’s going to keep her distance until you’re ready.” He sighed. “She also gave me the crash course in Quentin Coldwater Depression Spiraling 101, just wanted to put that out there.”

Quentin groaned. “Great.”

“I mean, it’s nice she cares. But I think I may want to revise the textbook. She doesn’t get to be the expert just because she’s known you literally all your life.” Quentin’s breath stilled as Eliot reclined to rest his head on his shoulder, lightly. “Pain?” he asked.

“N-No, you’re fine,” Q rushed to assure him. “El, you don’t have to… learn me. Julia freaks because of things that happened years ago, but I haven’t been that bad in a long time.” It wasn’t exactly true, he’d felt  _ exactly  _ that bad if not worse before Margo and Eliot had found him, but they  _ had  _ found him, so he didn’t see a reason to mention it.

“I think it’s only fair to say that she’s justified in worrying about this specifically,” Eliot argued, taking the smoking butt of the cigarette from Quentin and letting it float to the ashtray on its own. 

“I guess.”

“I’m just saying, if you... go there, I’m going with you, just… maybe a different path. You and Julia are who you are. You and I are something else. And you and Margo. And I like learning you. Which is a unique experience for me, so don’t argue.”

Quentin didn’t know what to say to that, so he just squeezed Eliot’s hand, relishing the feel of his messy curls that brushed against his shoulder. “Um. Thanks, El.”

“Mm. I’m, uh, going to move so I don’t hurt your arm. I think I might fall asleep.” 

Quentin wanted to protest, but as soon as Eliot had pulled away a bit, he pulled Quentin close to him on his side, tucking his head under his chin. “Now everything that hurts is on the other side,” he explained as if it was the simplest solution in the world. 

Quentin decided the bathroom could wait as Eliot fingers swept over his scalp, finally settling on the back of his neck as he succumbed to sleep again. Quentin watched the rise and fall of his chest, studied the coarse hair there. He inhaled the scent of Eliot, something he couldn’t hope to describe or identify. If he could, he’d have probably written fucking poetry about it, or something equally ridiculous. (And thank fucking god no one at Brakebills had discovered the fact he’d ever written poetry at all. Or occasionally still did.)

Once Eliot’s hand fell limp and Quentin knew he was truly asleep, he removed himself from the embrace. Sometimes you just had to pee. 

After taking care of his most pressing issue, Quentin washed his hands and then took a deep breath. 

He felt… braver than he had before. 

He looked up at his reflection. 

He was surprised to see his mostly normal self looking back at him, honestly. The bags under his eyes were worse than usual, and his hair needed to be brushed, but washing it could wait. He looked to the bruises below his neck, the subtle gray fingerprints that marked his skin, the angry red crescent visible at the juncture of his shoulder, the only one that had been too awkwardly placed for a bandage to really be useful. The marks that marred his arms halfway to his elbows. 

Taking in a deep breath, he turned away from the mirror and looked over his shoulder. 

“Fuck,” he whispered.

It was more difficult to see, but he didn’t turn away. The worst of it, the bites, were covered by three bandages, now looking a little loose due to his nap. But between them were long, shallow scabs, made by fingernails. Just at the waistband of his sweats were more bruises that framed his narrow hips, and for some reason those were the hardest to see. He hadn’t noticed them before, or really felt them. 

_ Q? _

Quentin jumped, startled.

_ What? How’d you lose him? _

Margo?

Quentin’s heart raced as he remembered and he quickly performed the small tut.  _ Just in the bathroom. Sorry. _

_ Oh, for fuck’s sake. _

Quentin smiled. 

Leaving the bathroom, Quentin found Eliot lounging against the headboard, his arm curled behind his head, looking like some debauched Victorian wet dream. 

“Sorry I keep waking you up,” Quentin told him as he crawled under the blankets again, too quickly. He hissed as uncomfortable places stretched in protest.

“Hey, take it easy,” Eliot admonished, already reaching to gather Quentin next to him as he reclined again. “It’s fine. It’s not like I sleep much anyway.”

“Same.” He squirmed himself closer to Eliot’s side, closing his eyes. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he heard the door open, and Quentin lifted his head slightly to find Margo at the foot of the bed, her head cocked to the side as she regarded the two half-naked men and all their entangled limbs.

“Bambi,” Eliot greeted her groggily.

“You two need to get a fucking room,” she snarked, depositing two white paper bags of take out on the bed. 

“Oh, look. Here’s one,” Eliot quipped in a sing-song voice and Quentin snorted.

“I’m eating alone, you both currently disgust me,” she informed them, her own bag in her hand as she left the room again. 

“God, I hope it’s not Chinese,” Eliot said, encouraging Quentin to sit up with him and using his significant reach to grab the bags into his lap, peering inside. “Oh.”

“Is it?” 

“No. Just sandwiches. Eight of them, apparently.”

Quentin scoffed. “Jesus.”

“Well, Bambi shows her love in her own way,” Eliot said with a soft smile. 

Quentin chose a turkey club, and was afraid to ask what Eliot had picked to eat, since it looked like it had something growing out of it, and they shared a bottle of water and comfortable silence. He couldn’t help but notice Eliot subtly checking how much sandwich was left in his hand until it was gone. He didn’t say anything, however, so Quentin didn’t call him out for it. 

After lunch was finished, the alarm sounded for another pain pill and Quentin swallowed it down and tried handing the water bottle back to Eliot. He shook his head, a strange expression on his face as he regarded Quentin, his lip between his teeth. Quentin felt strangely undone and concerned at the same time. “What?”

“You should… finish that, I’m thinking. And probably have some more.”

“Okay? Are you going to elaborate?”

“I’d rather not, because neither of us would enjoy that. And… fuck.” Eliot sighed, looking upwards. “And I forgot something else. I’m really bad at this.” He looked so dejected, Quentin had to smile. 

“You’re really not, you know.”

Eliot’s gaze met his, weirdly uncertain. “Thanks, Q. Um. So. Being someone who has had experiences you… haven’t.” He closed his eyes momentarily and Quentin actually watched him shift into the role of Eliot Fucking Waugh when he opened them again, his jaw steeling and his expression turning inward, like a cleaned slate. It was a little amazing.

“You just ate,” he said, as if that explained everything. “And it will eventually have to go… somewhere.”

Quentin groaned. “Oh, God.”

“Yeah. So, water, and lots of it. Are you allergic to almonds? I think there’s some in the kitchen.”

“No, all my allergies are drug related. Almonds?” 

“Fiber, Q. There’s popcorn too, but it’s that greasy bagged kind, and I will not have it in my bed.”

“This is a nightmare.” 

Silence hung in the air after his statement, and Quentin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But a chuckle escaped him anyway, and when he looked to Eliot, his eyes were glassy but he was also smiling.

“Q, there’s another thing, about last night. I just remembered, and you’re not going to like it.”

“Okay…”

“Penny stopped by? Your, um, wards…”

Quentin almost choked on his water. “Fuck,  _ Penny  _ knows?”

“Yeah, but… he actually seemed concerned? He was looking for you, to make sure you were… okay. I don’t think he’d tell anyone.”

“Probably not. I mean, he’s an asshole, but… I just wish…”

“I know.” Eliot left the bed for a moment and Quentin was surprised to see him retrieve the bag of wound dressings. “Ready?”

“You’re going to?”

Eliot’s eyes darted away. “If you want me to get Margo--”

“N-No, I just… it’s fine, El. Really.” He laughed. “I think Margo deserves a break.” Eliot gestured for him to turn around with a little spin of his finger and Quentin turned his back to him as he crawled back onto the bed. 

“Margo is fond of both of us, but she’s not really an intimate person, no.”

“I really wouldn’t have guessed that. You two are… touchy.”

“Emotional intimacy,” Eliot corrected him, peeling the tape from his back so much more gingerly than Margo had. “There’s a difference.”

“O-Oh. I-I really didn’t think  _ you  _ were…”

“What? Emotional?”

“Well…” Quentin shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

“Not at all. I know I come across as an expert at absolutely everything--”

“Fuck,” he laughed, rolling his eyes.

“--But there are a few things I am supremely terrible at, Quentin.”

“So, one being emotional intimacy, I’m guessing?”

“Smart boy. I’m going to clean these up more, it may sting a little.”

“Is it bad?”

“One is a little angry looking, yeah. I’ll send Todd to get some antibiotics, just in case. He’ll just think I’ve slept with someone questionable, no worries.”

“O-Okay. So.” Quentin inhaled through his teeth as the cold sting of alcohol met his skin. 

“Sorry.”

“‘S fine. Anyway, what else are you supremely terrible at?”

“Hmm. Good question.”

“My fucking God, you are so full of it.” He heard the slightest little  _ giggle  _ from behind him, and would have killed to see the expression that went with it. “So, let’s see. Eliot Waugh. Supremely good at dressing. Cooking. Mixing drinks. Whatever it is you do with your hair.”

“It’s called product, Q, but please do go on.”

“Um, hosting? Posing on furniture?”

“It’s not fair to make me want to tickle you when I literally can’t, you brat. Also, if you’re excluding my list of sexual talents, your list would be tragically short.”

“Well, being as I’ve only heard, and gossip can  _ really  _ exaggerate certain things…”

“Things? Hm. Well, if we’re trusting gossip, I’m also really good at being a slut.”

Quentin’s brow furrowed. “Someone said that?”

“Someone? Q, please. It’s a well-known fact at this point. I’m just one to lean in.” He felt the cold, unpleasant feel of the ointment against his skin now, and frowned. 

“I mean, I don’t think that. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do. I don’t give fuck-all what anyone thinks of me. For the most part. And I didn’t mean to imply that it’s something everyone has said. Brakebills is a bit more evolved in some aspects than the non-magical world, but some things just don’t change overnight.”

“I guess. But if I heard someone say that--”

“Oh, please tell me you’d defend my honor. My fifteen-year-old heart would swoon, you have no idea.”

Quentin sighed, twisting around to pin Eliot with an earnest look. “El, of  _ course  _ I would.”

Eliot went still, and Quentin searched his face, because  _ something  _ was happening, but he wasn’t sure what. Eliot looked… upset. Scared? Happy? 

Eliot sat up a bit, leaning over to place a kiss on Quentin’s forehead. Quentin inhaled slowly, for once not over-analyzing and just enjoying the soft press of his lips.

Eliot was smirking when he settled back down on the mattress. “Now, turn around and stop being fucking perfect for five minutes so I can finish, would you?”

“Yeah, I’ll try,” Quentin drawled, facing away once more. “You never did say if you were actually bad at anything else. I’m feeling extremely inadequate right now.”

“Fuck you,” Eliot laughed. “I am... bad at things.”

“You just can’t think of any?”

“Not any that are so easily defined. Give me a minute.”

“El, you don’t have to. I was teasing.”

“Oh, I’m aware, Coldwater. But it’s… interesting. Or something. I’m not bored.”

“There’s one. You’re bad at being bored.”

“It does tend to get me in trouble,” he agreed. “I’m bad at playing instruments.”

“All of them?”

“I’ve only ever tried two, but yes. I’m bad at Arabic. Getting to class on time. Sobriety. See? I have faults. I just prefer to focus on my talents.”

“Well, at least you’re so skilled at magic that you could probably completely change the circumstances from Arabic.”

“I’m not skilled.”

Eliot spoke it so quietly, it lent far more weight to the statement than Quentin felt a simple deflection deserved, especially when Eliot was a master of deflection. He patted his hand to Quentin’s back to let him know he was finished, and Quentin immediately rearranged himself to face Eliot. 

“Yes, you are. I see you do magic every day. You can’t really deny that one.”

Eliot returned all the items to the bag and tossed it into the floor. “There’s a difference between talent and skill,” he said, not meeting Quentin’s eye.

“Well, I’d say you have both in equal measure.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I have to study my ass off for the skill part.”

Quentin was surprised by that. “I’ve literally never seen you study. When do you have time?”

Eliot looked unsure of himself. “I don’t sleep much.”

“Oh. I get that. I faceplant a book at night more than I actually make it to bed.”

“Is there drool?” Eliot asked with a smirk, and Quentin batted at his knee.

“Probably. But I get it. It’s insanely hard.”

“It is, but… it’s kind of life or death for me, Q. And not the kind of life or death of getting kicked out of magic school. That would be hard, no doubt, but Margo and I laid out our plan for that in our first month.”

“Then, what is it?”

“Remember that day you had the panic attack out on the patio? What I told you?”

Quentin thought back, and it wasn’t hard to recall Eliot’s confession to him, about his childhood bully. “Yeah. I remember.”

“That’s in me all the time. Not any desire. Just… the magic. It’s  _ right  _ there. The… talent,” he almost spat, like the word tasted bad. “It’s why I stay up studying, and usually why I medicate, and sometimes why I fuck until I literally pass out, just trying to channel it, o-or control it.”

Quentin’s chest hurt, listening to Eliot’s confession, seeing the fear in his eyes. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

Eliot shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m just trying to tell you I’m not good at everything.”

“Okay. But… I don’t quite get it. What’s so dangerous about it? I get what happened to you before, and that’s bad, but it was just a moment. What are you trying so hard to control?”

Eliot blinked, looking thoughtful. “Promise me you won’t say anything? To anyone?”

Quentin nodded immediately. “Of course.”

“Okay.” He watched as Eliot closed his eyes for a moment, and then stared down into his lap.

Quentin saw movement across the room, and watched as all the objects on the dresser started to rise from the surface. The folded clothes, the tray of watches, an array of glass bottles full of either alcohol or cologne. The clothes stayed perfectly folded, the tray balanced as it rose into the air.

Then, the dresser followed. Then, the bookshelf. The table lamp. The rug. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “El, that’s amazing.”

“Is it?” He sounded sincerely uncertain, and Quentin watched as one of the shelves of Eliot’s books slowly emptied itself, the books floating into the center of the room and neatly stacking themselves with barely a sound. 

Then, Eliot looked up, his gaze sharp, and Quentin watched as a single sheet of paper slipped out from one of the books and floated towards the bed. Eliot's face twitched just around his eyes, barely perceptible, and the paper was cleanly cut into three pieces, falling onto the mattress.

“Fuck, was that battle magic?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he nearly whispered. 

Everything in the room slowly returned to its rightful place within gravity, and Eliot brushed the paper from the bed, saying nothing. 

“You know you’re wrong, right?”

Quentin hadn’t meant to say it, but now Eliot was looking at him sharply. “How am I wrong? It’s… dangerous. I spent all of undergrad so fucked up I barely remember it just trying to… fucking dampen it or something.”

“I get it could be dangerous, but you said you weren’t skilled. Eliot, that’s more skill than I’ve seen out of… anyone. I have class with a guy who’s mostly likely telekinetic. And if he’d even tried one thing on your dresser, there’d be a mess.”

“I guess I just… don’t want it? I know that sounds fucking selfish.”

“No, it doesn’t. I honestly feel kind of bad for complaining all the time that I’m so bad at magic.”

“Don’t, Q. And you’re not bad. You just don’t trust yourself with it. You will. It’ll help when you find your discipline.”

“Yeah. I hope I don’t have to… leave here once I do, though.”

“You won’t. You’re definitely Physical.” He smirked. “I got the dirt on your exam.”

“Of course you did.”

  
  
  
  



	8. Everything I Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "everything i wanted" by Billie Eilish.

_ Julia _

The thing Julia loved most about the Knowledge Student dorms was the attention it focused on privacy and quiet. She could go anywhere else on campus for a party or a chat, but here, she could just be alone.

She’d tried spending time in her room, but she’d kept looking over her photo collage. Pictures of Quentin and her were the predominant theme, though there were new faces slowly joining them. She couldn’t look at his smiling face and not feel tears in her eyes. And as much as she wanted to run across campus and beg Eliot to just let her set eyes on him, she had to study. 

So, she’d found a window nook that looked out onto the massive lawn, but she kept her phone close to her, grateful that she’d let Quentin show her the spell that allowed it to work on campus. She’d been afraid of breaking the rules at first, but he’d told her practically everyone used it. All she had to do was not take it to class. 

Once Julia was pulled into the book in her lap, her despair was quiet, resigned to wait in the back of her thoughts as she absorbed the pages of circumstances required for the spell she was trying to perfect. 

When her phone rattled once against the windowsill, Julia hurriedly reached for it, finding an unfamiliar number in her notifications. 

_ “It’s Eliot, got your number from Q’s phone. No trouble eating or drinking so far. Sleeping is sketchy, but he’s in pain. I think one of the places on his back is trying to get infected, but I’m taking care of it.” _

_ “His back?”  _ Julia responded, never willing to stay confused about anything for long.

She waited, watching the ellipses on her screen bounce for a moment.

_ “I can tell you, but I don’t see how it would help.” _

_ “Tell me?”  _ She hurriedly added the question mark before sending it. She wasn’t in a position to demand things.

It took awhile for her phone to vibrate again, and Julia was surprised at the length of Eliot’s response. 

_ “Okay, head to toe I guess. His chin is busted. Three stitches required. Around his shoulders is probably the worst, if we’re talking visually. Bruising, bites.”  _ Julia’s breath hitched. “ _ And I just don’t fucking get it. Or I don’t want to. He couldn’t struggle. More bites on his back, top part. Scratches. Hips are bruised. And you know, the obvious thing. But only Lipson saw and she said he’d be fine in a few days. Also, I think he may have had some hair pulled out. He hasn’t said, but he seems sensitive there.”  _

Tears fell from Julia’s eyes as she smiled painfully, her thumbs flying across her keyboard. “ _ Maybe not. Behind his ear? I had to learn to avoid it. One of the few things he actually had the balls to tell me. Kind of don’t want your best friend finding your sexy spot.”  _

_ “Noted,”  _ was all Eliot replied with.

It felt so alien to her, someone else caring for Quentin, but she was grateful he was allowing someone else into his space. It hurt that he didn’t feel like he could see her, but she could do this for him. She had to. 

She knew she’d always pushed, but… Quentin always seemed to need pushing, and she was the only person he’d had for so long. It was going to take a lot of adjustment, but as long as Julia had the parameters, she thought she could let go a little. She’d always wanted to. 

It was just that she could see Quentin so clearly, the person he could be if he’d just take care of himself, believe in himself. And it was so hard to watch him just stumble through life like he didn’t see that potential, or care about it. 

He was a brilliant writer, and had a sharp mind. He remembered literally everything he read in great detail, and could compare opposing arguments in a way that had left their high school teachers obviously feeling inadequate. He had the biggest heart and the cutest smile. It had always gutted her to see him hate himself, to take so little care of his own life.

Julia was surprised when her phone lit up again.

_ “I can ask if he’ll see you tonight, but I have to be sure you won’t upset him.”  _

_ “I won’t,”  _ she promised. “ _ I won’t ask anything about it. I just want to see him, you know?”  _

_ “I understand,”  _ Eliot replied. Then, “ _ I understand that, not you specifically.” _

_ “OK? Did Q say something?”  _

_ “Yes, and actually managed to get his point across.”  _ Julia giggled softly at that. 

_ “I can take it,”  _ she let him know.

_ “Aware of that. He said you don’t let him feel things, and that makes it worse for him. Right now, he’s feeling some heavy shit and he thinks you’d try to stop him.”  _

Julia took the punch to her gut like a professional, her breath rushing out of her. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before replying. “ _ I guess he’s right. But I just want him to see what I see in him. He doesn’t deserve to feel the things he thinks of himself, they’re so off base.” _

_ “Can I say something a bit harsh?”  _ Eliot asked.

_ “Go for it.” _

_ “You’re asking to see Q without depression. I can’t imagine your picture of that, I’m sure it’s wonderful for you. But it’s not real. I get you probably got some time with him before it settled in, but he’s more than enough with it. I agree it doesn’t make sense for him to hate himself. I know it hurts to see it. But it’s part of him. I accept all parts, and that’s why it’s me here.” _

A choked breath escaped Julia’s lips, and she couldn’t move her hands to respond right away. There was also a bit of a shock that someone that seemed as shallow as Eliot Waugh had just cut right to the heart of her with such ease. 

She received another text, and laughed through her tears. “ _ He’s awake. I wouldn’t let him read any of this, and he’s pissy at me. So, come over. Be good. Someone should be downstairs, just ask for my room. And memorize their faces when you do, I need details. Ta.” _

Julia quickly stood from the reading nook, replacing the borrowed book on the shelf before going into her room. She wiped a bit of smeared mascara from under her eyes before slipping into a pair of ankle boots and donning her coat and beanie. She wasn’t going to wait for Q or Eliot to change their minds.

She felt a moment of trepidation when she entered the Physical Kids cottage. She’d attended plenty of their parties, but stepping inside during a Sunday afternoon was… different. It was surprisingly clean and quiet. Music was playing from somewhere, something soft with an 80s sound to it, but she couldn’t place where it was coming from. A couple of students were sprawled across couches, reading, and she heard voices coming from the kitchen. 

Feeling a bit awkward, she looked for a familiar face and finally spotted Todd leaving the kitchen, a dish towel in hand. He immediately beamed at her. “Hi, Julia!” A blonde man with glasses appeared behind him, looking curious. 

“Hey, Todd. Um?” She looked to the other man.

“Oh! Josh. Hoberman. You’re Quentin’s friend? He’s mentioned you.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you. Could either of you tell me the way to Eliot’s room?”

Todd’s smile only widened, but Josh looked briefly defeated before also smiling. “Sure, it’s up and to the right. Door is also on the right. Don’t go left, that’s Margo’s room.”

“Thanks. See you.” Julia tried not to laugh as she turned away from them to ascend the stairs. She pulled her fingers into fists as she approached Eliot’s door, trying to stop them from shaking. She couldn’t fuck this up, not when Q was giving her an in during such a vulnerable time.

She could hear murmured voices through the door, and a soft laugh that was definitely Eliot, but wasn’t like any laugh she’d heard from him before. Taking a deep breath, Julia lifted her fingers to knock lightly against the wood. She felt the tingling of magic and then heard Eliot’s voice call for her to come in. 

Opening the door, Julia was surprised to see Eliot and Quentin sitting together in a large bed. She was relieved to see Quentin looked like… her friend. His lips were twisted in a hopeful smile, his heart in his eyes as always. She hated the anxiety she also saw hovering over his brow as he looked at her, though.

Eliot was… a shock, though Julia tried not to show it. His legs were criss-crossed as he leaned against the headboard. She’d never seen him look anything but absolutely perfect, but in a pair of luxurious looking satin pants and a large sweater, he somehow seemed smaller to her. His hair was a riot of curls, sticking up this way and that, and there was the faint shadow of stubble across his jaw. 

His smirk was all Eliot, though, as he patted the mattress near his feet. “I appreciate the need to take this in, but…”

“Jesus, El,” Quentin snickered, and in that moment, Julia let a bit of her heart open for Eliot Waugh.

She crawled her way up onto the bed, lounging on her side and playfully pulling at one of Q’s exposed toes. “Miss me?” she asked.

Quentin’s cheeks dimpled as he nodded. “Yeah. I-I’m sorry that I--”

“We are not doing apologies today,” she informed him with a grin. “Those are the rules.”

Quentin closed his mouth and nodded, looking appreciative. 

“So, what have you boys been up to today?” she asked lightly, meeting Eliot’s glance for a moment. He was still on edge, she could tell, but seemed approving at the moment. 

“Uh… sleeping?” Quentin replied. “Some of that. And lunch.”

“Margo deserted us for giving her dirty thoughts, so that’s a win for the day.”

Quentin looked at Eliot in confusion. “What?”

Eliot chuckled, looking at Quentin fondly before rolling his eyes at his obliviousness. “She got too hot and bothered for any more cuddling, Q.”

Julia was taking this all in with the same interest as her meta composition courses. “Oh, there’s been cuddling?” she teased, pulling at Quentin’s toe again. “Cheater.”

“Margo?” he asked again, looking utterly dumbfounded. 

“Jesus, yes, Quentin,” Eliot sighed, but there was no actual annoyance in his tone. “I know it is against your very nature to admit you’re attractive, but please try to keep up. Two men in a bed does it for Bambi. She just prefers being in the middle of them. There’s a time and a place for that, though.”

Julia laughed at the mildly terrified look in Quentin’s eyes. “Oh. Um. Okay.” Eliot only chuckled softly, shaking his head. 

“So, did I miss scheduled cuddling time?” she asked Quentin hopefully.

He smiled that bashful smile she adored so much and there was some shuffling to make room for her on Quentin’s right. 

“Careful with shoulders,” Eliot said quietly and Julia smiled at him as she settled with her face nearly in Q’s armpit. 

“This good?” she asked Quentin as he settled his arm around her. 

“Yeah. The pain pills are helping with… most things.” Julia watched in interest as Quentin’s free hand wrapped gently around Eliot’s wrist, watched as Eliot turned it within Quentin’s grasp to entwine their fingers. She didn’t draw attention to it, didn’t acknowledge it. But the knowledge was there now, and she felt calmer for it. Eliot’s expression when he’d walked away from her in front of the library. His text messages. How strangely undone he appeared today. 

Things from previous months quietly slid into place now, too. She’d been confused by Eliot and Margo’s fixation on Q from the very start. She’d thought they’d hurt him somehow when it wore off. But they were always seeking him out, or just giving in when they couldn’t get him out of his head. Julia had seen so many little things that were now adding up to one whole. 

The way Eliot’s eyes lit up when Quentin settled against his side on the couch. The way Eliot casually smoothed his hair, or let it slide through his fingers. The way Eliot always laughed in delight when Quentin finally had enough of his teasing and gave back as good as he’d gotten. The distant look in Eliot’s eyes when she’d found them in the reading nook, Eliot’s head pressed to Q’s shoulder as he read softly, looking mystified that Eliot was listening. The quiet pleasure in Eliot’s eyes when he walked his long fingers through a complicated tut and watched Quentin complete it perfectly afterwards.

_ Oh, my God.  _

“So, I don’t think I was clear on my cuddling requirements,” she said, her tone easy and neutral despite the massive realization she’d just experienced.

“Oh?” Eliot asked lightly, pulling his gaze from the window. 

“I believe a Q sandwich is in order here. I mean, he’s only our hostage until Tuesday, right?” 

Something passed through Eliot’s eyes. Something vulnerable, and broken, and so, so hopeful. It was quickly replaced with a lascivious smirk. “You  _ are  _ right, Wicker. Silly me. Move that arm, Coldwater.”

Quentin laughed softly, pulling Eliot in and he hesitantly rested his long, graceful fingers on Julia’s, twitching a bit before they stilled against Quentin’s ribs.

_ You’re welcome,  _ she thought. 

Only minutes passed before Quentin was pulled under by his pain medication and the warmth of being surrounded by his closest friends, but neither moved away from his sleeping form beneath them. “Fuck, I want a cigarette,” Eliot whispered, but he didn’t move. His fingertips pressed against the end of hers, sometimes gliding over a painted nail. Never staying still completely. 

“Can’t you just magic one over here?” 

“I can, but it always wakes him up. He’s smoked more today than in the last month. But he can’t drink right now, so it feels bad to deny him of it. It doesn’t really seem fair when the pills are barely doing anything.”

“He’s hurting?”

Eliot sighed. “Yeah. I’ve had… similar. Much less. A little is nice sometimes. But I know it isn’t the same. And being… new to that. Bad combination.”

“I’ve actually had my own bad anal, thank you.”

Eliot did look surprised, but recovered quickly, looking absolutely scandalized. “Miss Wicker, we may be friends yet.”

“Oh, you don’t know me that well,” she told him, and trapped his fingers through her own. “We’re friends already. Have been for, like, half an hour now, so deal with that.”

“Dealt with,” he mumbled, but there was a soft smile on his face. “He should eat dinner, but I don’t want to go downstairs. I left sandwiches in the fridge, but I’d like him to have something more filling.”

“He probably won’t, though. Not pushing, it’s just that Q doesn’t really do complicated food at the best times.”

He chuckled. “I’ve noticed. I actually caught him eating peanut butter with a fucking spoon on the couch once. I nearly fainted.”

“He bites cheese off the block and then just leaves it in the fridge that way.”

“That’s completely unforgivable. You  _ lived  _ with him?”

“And my boyfriend at the time, who was actually worse. Q’s not a slob, at least. James seemed to think having a vagina meant anything other than picking his socks off the floor was my job. He helped me keep the place livable, at least.” Eliot looked genuinely interested in hearing about their time before Brakebills, so she indulged him. “I mean, he grew up with his dad. His mom left when he was young and married a woman. And Ted was pretty ingrained in not picking up after himself by that point. Clutter just makes Q anxious, so he kind of taught himself to clean up. I’d help sometimes, if he tried to use it as an excuse not to come out with us. Managing his environment always seems to give him a little peace, though.”

“Makes sense.”

Julia knew she could be treading dangerous ground, and she wouldn’t do anything to complicate whatever tenuous thing that was happening with Eliot and her best friend. But she felt that checking in was required in this situation. “I know you’ve been with him since… well. If you need a break or anything…” she offered. 

Eliot’s gaze met hers sharply, but it wasn’t angry. “I… don’t. I don’t think.” He laughed almost silently. “I don’t know. This really isn’t about me.” His words sounded thick in his throat.

“What about just a little one? Dinner, and didn’t you mention something about antibiotics?”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Todd fails again. Surprising.”

“So, call Lipson and have one of her students drop them off. Grab the sandwiches. Take a breath?” Eliot looked uncertain. “He’s not going anywhere, you know.”

_ There it is,  _ Julia thought as fear flooded Eliot’s eyes, quickly corrected but not quickly enough.  _ You think this is temporary. And how guilty do you feel for loving it so much?  _

She knew this was not the time to call him on it. 

“Um. Yeah. Okay. Margo… she might come in here while I’m gone? Not sure. She’ll be a total bitch to you. Handle it as you like.”

“I can handle Margo.”

Eliot positively leered as he sat up from Q’s side. “Never let her hear you say that. Or do. Please do.”

“Get out of here,” she giggled quietly.

Julia almost fell asleep after Eliot changed pants in his bathroom and left, the quiet of the room and Q’s deep breathing against her lulling her just under full consciousness. But the world was different now, and she couldn’t quite let go of reality. 

Quentin had been hurt, so badly hurt. And she had to admit that if it had just been left for her to handle, she might have failed him. She could admit that to herself. 

He fit differently in her head now, even though he was really no different at all. He’d always been this way, she just hadn’t let herself see it. She’d viewed Q’s depression more like a broken limb than a life-long disorder. Something that could be treated and dealt with, and it had frustrated her that he wouldn’t just do the things he needed to to make it go away. She felt terrible for that, and foolish. And also achingly proud that he’d accomplished so much with it anyway. 

She also needed to adjust to the fact that Eliot Waugh was falling in love with her best friend, if he wasn’t there already. Not that Julia could blame him, Quentin was a catch. Her feelings for him were purely platonic, but they didn’t make her blind. It was only surprising because she’d thought love was something Eliot would have considered beneath him, or “boring.” She hadn’t really pegged him as the relationship type, considering all the men she’d glimpsed him with in dark corners of the common room parties.

The timing was fucked, and Quentin needed time to heal. But… she could almost see it. There were countless hurdles. Talking to Quentin about Eliot’s feelings was out; she could already hear him laughing, could picture the utter disbelief on his face. She’d never mentioned his crush on Eliot before, how out of character he acted around the older man. She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, convinced he would only get hurt if he acted on his feelings. And if Eliot hadn’t expressed an outright interest, he was afraid of something. He didn’t strike her as the quiet type when it came to what he wanted, not after what she’d witnessed from him. 

So, Julia would just… be there. She couldn’t promise herself not to push, but that time would be far in the future. She had to focus on Quentin now, and help him heal, help find and punish the man who’d done this to him, make sure he was okay to go to class and that no one fucked with him or made him uncomfortable. She had spoken to Penny earlier, though, and even though he was kind of a total asshole, she thought maybe he could help with that. 

Feeling confident with her chosen path, and comforted that she finally wasn’t walking it alone, Julia slowly fell asleep.


	9. I Need My Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Chapter title from song by The National.

_ Eliot _

“Todd!”

Everyone in the common room jumped at Eliot’s shout as he descended the stairs, looking around. Another first year pointed towards the kitchen, and Eliot marched inside to find Todd and Josh Hoberman at the stove.

The kitchen was a disaster, an obvious drug experiment happening all over the granite counters.

“Isn’t there a place in your treehouse for this?” Eliot asked, waving his hand at the various cookware and pans of questionable liquids. 

“Uh, technically, but Todd wanted to learn how to get the taste of the static magic out of the chocolate sauce, so…” Josh shrugged, easily ignoring Eliot’s heated glare. 

“Todd, I specifically asked you to take care of an errand for me. Hours ago,” Eliot reminded him. 

“Oh! I did, yeah. I just… hadn’t seen you since then.” He turned and grabbed a white paper bag from the counter, passing it to Eliot. 

“Hm.” Eliot turned away from him to open the fridge, finding their bags of leftover sandwiches after a few flicks of his finger, and grabbing a bottle of water before leaving the kitchen without another word. 

He almost went straight back to his door, but paused in the hallway, looking towards Margo’s instead. 

_ It won’t help,  _ he told himself. And Margo was probably asleep.

It didn’t stop him from turning the knob and letting himself inside, and he found his best friend on the edge of her bed, filing her nails as she listened to what Eliot quickly realized was a podcast on her phone. 

“Hey, El. Where’s Q?”

“Sleeping. Julia’s with him. It’s… going well, I guess.” Feeling strangely awkward, he let the items in his hands fall to the end of her bed, walking around to sit next to her and crossing his arms over his chest. The voice on her phone filled the silence, describing the gory details of a murder and Eliot wrinkled his nose. He would never understand Margo’s fixation with true crime. 

He wanted to talk to her. He needed to. But… they usually didn’t. They called each other on their shit, certainly, but when Margo had a nightmare and crawled into his bed, neither acknowledged what the nightmare was about, or the fact she cried as quietly as she could into his neck until she fell asleep. The only reason he knew about Margo’s assaults were the Trials. They never talked about it again. They expressed their love and support through touch, with actions. 

That wouldn’t work for this, and Eliot didn’t know what to do. 

“El.” He looked to his side to see her studying his face, her large, dark eyes full of understanding and sadness. 

And she knew. Of course she did. 

Eliot’s chest hitched and he held himself more tightly, fucking terrifed suddenly to let anything out. But Margo’s hands were on him, pulling him down into her lap, unraveling him and he hated her, he hated himself, this wasn’t  _ them.  _

A sharp, broken sob tore from Eliot’s throat and he closed his eyes in humiliation as Margo ran her fingers almost harshly through his hair, pulling almost painfully. “Fuck, Bambi, I can’t--”

“You already are,” she said, her voice firm but raspy. “We’re here now. No one can hear you. No one can see. But it’s happening, Eliot. Just let it.”

And Eliot felt whatever kept his control so firm, so precise just rip in half. He didn’t recognize his own voice as he cried against Margo’s thighs, his hand squeezing her bare leg like an anchor. Her hands roamed over him, strong and delicate, squeezing his bicep and smoothing his brow. The bed vibrated beneath them with the force of his magic, unfocused and without direction. His mind felt the same, and he lost track of time as he wept painfully.

Eventually, though, he ran out of tears. His face felt hot and prickly, he was gasping for air, and Margo’s touch was softer, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. 

He didn’t know what to say again, but Margo didn’t press him, and he eventually sat up, feeling ashamed and unable to look at her. It was a new feeling, and he loathed it. 

“El, if you need some time…”

“No,” he whispered. “Today was just… difficult.”

“I know… I get that it’s hard to see him that way--”

“It’s  _ not that,”  _ Eliot chuckled darkly, pressing his fingers into his eyes before rubbing them down his face. “It’s… it’s like he’s in the darkest place a person can be, and he’s still so… fucking  _ wonderful.  _ He’s perfect. He’s every dream I crushed under my first pair of shoes that cost over a hundred dollars, and I told myself I didn’t  _ want  _ that anymore. But obviously I was full of shit, big fucking surprise, and now…” He shook his head angrily. “I don’t need time. I need to not be this person. He doesn’t need this, I can’t  _ do  _ this.”

“Oh. Well, if you didn’t want to be the guy in love with Quentin Coldwater, you probably should have shut that down a few months ago, genius,” she replied casually. Eliot glared at her in shock. “Oh, please. You think I’m an idiot?”

“No. No, Bambi, I just… What the fuck do I do?”

“Right now? You go feed your boy, and you hold him, and you get him to take his fucking medication. You’ve already had your meltdown, and you’re probably good to go for another day or two, huh?” He nodded. “Okay. And I know I’m a shit friend, El, and I don’t know what to do with what the fuck just happened, but you can do it again if you need to. Now, come here,” She waved her fingers towards his face. He expected a kiss as he leaned close to her, but Margo pressed her thumbs under his eyes and cupped his jaw, mumbling under her breath. He felt the heat and tightness melt out of his skin, and then she did kiss him. It was more aggressive than their usual, her teeth skating across his lip before she pulled away. She then tended to his hair, smoothing it down and tugging a tendril or two to fall over his brow. “You’re good to go. Just… if you can’t handle it, you have to let me know, okay?”

“Promise,” he replied, leaving the bed to gather the bags again, feeling exhausted but somewhat lighter than he had before. “And you’re not a shit friend. So there’s that.”

Margo grinned at him through sad eyes.

Crossing the hall, Eliot found Julia slumped against Quentin’s side, her lips parted in sleep. She looked much younger than she usually did, that strangely aged wisdom in her eyes momentarily hidden.

But Quentin was awake, and smoking again. He smiled softly as Eliot entered and turned on a lamp since it was beginning to grow dark outside. “Sandwiches again?” he offered, tossing the bags onto the bed.

Julia moved at the sound of his voice, her nose wrinkling before she opened her eyes. “Oh, food,” she said as she sat up, and Quentin handed her the bag, letting her pick first. “Q, do you want tuna or ham?”

“Ham. You’re disgusting.” She laughed and took the tuna for herself. “El, there’s… something with avocado and a BLT?”

“Bacon, please. Avert your eyes, children.” Eliot began undressing, and noticed Julia did not look away, her grin teasing as she watched him strip. Eliot winked at her. “I wouldn’t have expected you to want a show.”

Quentin looked to Julia, and then to Eliot, and then blushed, deciding to focus on his sandwich. 

“Well, you know, you have a bit of a reputation for being smoking hot, so yeah, I thought I’d confirm.”

Eliot gave her a knowing look. “I appreciate your delicacy, but I know what you’ve heard.” Glancing to Quentin to make sure he wasn’t looking, Eliot casually pulled his boxer briefs tight against his sides, biting back a laugh as her eyes widened at the considerable bulge the taut fabric revealed.

“Holy fuck!” she mouthed silently, looking like she might start laughing too.

Eliot rolled his eyes with a smile, letting the fabric go lax before stepping into his pajama pants. “Some have made similar reviews,” he mused. Seeing as Julia Wicker didn’t appear to be prudish at all, he ignored the sweater and crawled into bed, moving the ashtray and Quentin’s spent cigarette aside before snagging a sandwich and settling against the headboard. 

“On what?” Quentin asked around a mouth full of food. Eliot and Julia laughed, and he looked between them in confusion. “I obviously missed something.”

“I don’t fucking know how,” Julia snickered, and Eliot chuckled along with her as Quentin just looked lost. 

After their food was eaten and Eliot cleaned up around his room a bit, his door opened again, revealing Margo. “I cleared out downstairs. Thought we could watch a movie or something.” Her gaze didn’t linger on Julia long, but that was as friendly as Margo was likely to get.

Eliot felt a ridiculous surge of love for her, and looked to Quentin. “Q?”

“Um. Sure? What are we watching?”

It turned out, nothing really. While Netflix was definitely playing in the background, the four of them settled on opposite couches, Quentin leaning on Julia’s shoulder and Margo reclined decadently in Eliot’s lap as they talked about nothing important at all. It felt like a sad, subdued version of other nights they’d spent together, but it was also strangely soothing. Eliot didn’t decline the small splash of bourbon Margo brought him, but didn’t ask for a refill, and she didn’t offer. 

The calm couldn’t last forever, though.

They all heard the chime of Julia’s phone, and she looked upset and flustered after she checked the message. Eliot saw something wild and furious in her eyes, but she said nothing as she tossed the phone aside.

“Oh, come on,” Margo said, sitting up. “Spill.”

Julia’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Margo. “It was Marina, okay?” 

Quentin startled a bit at the name, his eyes darting from side to side, and Eliot watched him force himself to settle. 

He felt guilty, but it was time to hash this out. “Quentin, you can… go if you want. But we need to talk about this, I think.”

“Talk about what?” he asked, his tone already a little defensive. 

“About all the creative shit we’re going to do to this guy, and how to track him down,” Margo informed him, downing almost an entire glass of wine as punctuation. 

“Why are you doing anything?” Quentin asked, shaking his head. “Y-You can’t.”

“Oh, we can,” Margo said. Eliot rubbed her arm, trying to bank her fury before Quentin thought it was being directed at him.

“Q… I told you Penny came by,” he hedged.

“Yeah, I know.”

“He knew… Mark. Margo and I know him, too.”

Quentin’s eyes widened, his brow furrowing. It made Eliot ache to watch him curl in on himself, and it also probably didn’t help the pain he was in. 

“H-How do you know him?”

“He graduated a few years ago,” Eliot explained. “We met him at a party. Here. He’s a mentor, Q.”

He saw a flash of panic pass through Quentin’s dark eyes. “Oh. H-He comes here?”

“No,” Margo assured him. “Not anymore. He tried pulling some shit with Eliot and we sent him packing. He’s a fucking sadist.”

“Not arguing with that,” Quentin said quietly, taking a long drink of his water and probably wishing it was something stronger. 

“So,” Julia spoke up, threading her fingers with Quentin’s. “We can tell the dean and hope he deals with it. That’s one option.”

“Or you can sic me and El on him,” Margo added. Quentin looked to Eliot, as if for confirmation.

Eliot nodded, which appeared to be the wrong answer, as Quentin’s eyebrows drew together, his mouth turning down. “N-No,” he said. “It’s not up to you. You could get kicked out, or hurt, or… no.” He sighed, looking petulant and exhausted. “I’ll tell Fogg.”

“Or I can tell Marina,” Julia offered. 

Eliot turned sharply towards her, barely hearing Margo scoff. “What good would that do?” he asked, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

Julia shrugged. “It’s not like I know her all that well, and yeah, she might be an evil bitch, but it’s possible we could use that to our advantage. If knows someone in her circle is capable of doing shit like that, she might--”

“What?” Margo asked. “Buy him a fucking trophy? Marina is garbage. I vote no.”

“I vote we wait and see,” Eliot said. “I don’t dislike Henry, but I don’t trust him, either. I wouldn’t be surprised if he claims this is out of his hands.”

“I want to go to bed,” Q announced a bit too loudly in the quiet of the room.

And the night was over, just like that. Eliot set his glass aside, Julia told Quentin a quiet good-night, and Margo started collecting their dishes to take to the kitchen, which was so unlike her that Eliot felt it would be good to leave her alone until morning, unless she indicated otherwise. He followed Quentin upstairs, and tried not to sigh with relief as he headed straight towards Eliot’s room. 

Neither spoke as they slipped out of their shirts, but Quentin didn’t look at Eliot as he settled into bed, or acknowledge when Eliot tucked the comforter up over his shoulder. Eliot turned out the light with little more than a thought and settled onto his back, trying to accept the distance.

“Why would you do that?” 

Eliot blinked in the darkness. “Elaborate?”

“Go after him. Why? It’s… it’s done. It’s over with. He got what he wanted. It could fuck up your life, El. All of your lives.”

Eliot chuckled in the darkness. There was no humor in it. “You really can’t understand it, can you?”

“No? There’s just no point in it now.”

“No  _ point?”  _ Eliot snapped, sitting up on his elbow and tugging on Quentin’s until he rolled onto his back. The younger man looked up at him in quiet alarm. “He  _ hurt  _ you. You’re our  _ friend.  _ Is it so fucking hard to wrap your head around the fact people fucking care about you?”

“I…”

“Quentin, if you had wanted me out of your sight last night, I would have found him. I  _ wanted  _ to. I just needed to be here more.”

Eliot felt a warm rush of relief as Quentin moved towards him, and Eliot grasped the back of his neck, trying to make that enough. He wanted to kiss him so badly it was excruciating, but he just smiled painfully, settling onto the mattress and letting Quentin rest against his shoulder. When he felt the dampness against his skin, he only ran his hand through his friend’s hair, saying nothing. 


	10. Come Here Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Cold Blood" by Bruno Major.

_ Julia _

Julia was surprised when she left the library the next morning to find Margo Hanson waiting for her. “Is Q okay?” she asked as she approached. 

Margo stood from the bench she’d been seated on, smoothing her skirt. “He’s fine. I’ll walk you to class, we need to chat.”

“Um, okay. I thought you didn’t have class today?”

“I’ve got shit to do, El can handle Q for the day. They’ll probably just nap and make moon eyes at each other, anyway.”

“Oh, you noticed that too?”

Margo stopped, her expression somewhat… hesitant? It didn’t look right on her, whatever it was, and it was quickly replaced with something harder. “Look. El’s got it bad for your boy. And I know you don’t know us that well, but that’s not a casual statement. Neither is the fact that I’m talking to you about it.”

“No, I’ve put together that much. I don’t know what you want me to do about it, though.”

“Well, what about Q? Has he said anything? I can’t encourage this if Eliot’s going to get his heart broken, you know?”

Julia felt like the world had turned upside down. Wasn’t it supposed to be her confronting Margo on subject matter like this?

“O-Oh, um. He hasn’t said anything  _ specifically,  _ no.”

“So, there’s something?”

Julia nodded, and the women began walking again. “Q, he doesn’t just let people touch him like that. Me, sure, but even we’ve never been that physical.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s feeling anything. El’s hot, guys wanna fuck him. Even straight ones.”

“Q’s not like that,” Julia assured her as they walked across the lawn. “And he’s never exactly been straight, either. He doesn’t really do casual, though, or he doesn’t do it  _ well. _ Not that he’s ever had the chance for anything but that. He’s had hookups and everything, but he’s always wanted something more, you know?”

“Not really, but keep going.”

“It’s hard to explain. He can put himself out there, in his own way, if he’s looking to scratch an itch. You know?”

“I honestly can’t imagine,” Margo replied, her eyes wide with amusement.

“Oh, you should try. It’s as awkward as you think, but it’s worked before. But when he’s genuinely interested, he keeps it to himself. He doesn’t act on it. And I see the way he looks at Eliot. I’m positive there’s a high amount of pining going on.”

“God, you wouldn’t believe. I thought El was having some kind of seizure after he took Q to exams. He practically broke my door down and was just ‘dimples, dimples, now!’ and dragged me out,” Margo told her, complete with lazy flaps of her hands. 

Julia giggled at that mental image as they stopped in front of the Metaphysics Center. “I’ve got to head to class, but once Q is feeling up to it, I’ll try to get dirt. Deal?”

Margo smirked. “Sounds good. I’m going to deal with Fogg.”

Julia’s lips parted in quiet shock. “You are?”

“I’m not risking him being a dick to Q right now. Figured I’d take care of it,” she replied, crossing her arms like she was daring Julia to argue with her.

“Oh. Well, okay.” Julia smiled. “You really aren’t as bitchy as everyone says you are, you know.”

Margo scowled. “Well, you can keep that opinion to yourself, unless you want me to prove you wrong.”

“Yeah, okay.”

*

_ Margo _

Margo waited for twenty minutes before she was allowed into Dean Fogg’s office, and she kept her gaze cool as she took a seat across from him. “Miss Hanson, what can I do for you today? Welters season is over for the year.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got some shit that I’m going to need you to deal with.”

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that Lipson excused you, Quentin Coldwater, and Mr. Waugh from classes today? Without referring to me, or even letting me know the reason?”

“It would, yeah. Don’t worry, I’m going to class as soon as I’m done here. But one of your students was raped by one of your mentors over the weekend. Not  _ his  _ mentor, he doesn’t have one. But I thought I’d give you the chance to deal with it before I do.”

Fogg leaned forward, his brow furrowing. “Are you sure of this?”

“Oh, yeah. There’s a lot of fucking evidence. And Penny got his name from Q’s head.”

“Quentin was the victim of this?”

“Yeah. El and I found him Saturday night.”

“And who assaulted him?”

“Mark Davidson.”

Margo watched the silent shock settle in Fogg’s eyes as he sat back in his chair. “Oh. Well, that’s a goddamn problem.”

“You don’t say,” she responded cynically. 

Fogg looked thoughtful, then stood and poured something amber from one of his many liquor bottles into a crystal glass. “Miss Hanson, I’ll have to speak to the board about this. I assure you, Mr. Davidson will be stripped of his mentorship, if nothing else, and be forced to return his alumni key.”

“That’s all you can do?”

He leveled his gaze at her. “That’s all I can promise to do at this very moment. I’ll have to contact others for anything further. My reach doesn’t extend that far off campus, I’m afraid. I’ll be in touch, though.”

Margo sighed. While it wasn’t a complete loss, she’d wanted much more. “Get that key,” she told him, tapping her finger onto his desk with each word.

“I’ll make every effort.”

*

_ Quentin _

Quentin had always thought it was weird how differently he woke up from nightmares each time they’d occurred throughout his life. Sometimes he’d wake up flailing, sometimes mumbling, and sometimes with a sudden jerk, or a gasp for air.

And sometimes, he’d just wake up, his body completely still and calm.

He did that this morning, his eyes opening all at once before squinting in the light from the windows as he assessed his surroundings. 

He was almost completely on his stomach, and his arm was cold where it had escaped the blanket to hang off the side of the bed. And the weight of Eliot felt much heavier than it had ever felt before because the man was damn near on top of him, his chest draped over half of Quentin’s back, it felt like, and his arm wrapped around Quentin’s ribs, and--

His enormous erection pressed against the side of his ass.

_ Oh, my God,  _ he thought, his eyes widening in realization as he felt his entire upper body flush. He blew out a soft breath and tried to think rationally. If he woke Eliot up, he’d apologize and feel terrible, and Quentin didn’t want him to, or to even deal with that. He definitely didn’t want to risk Eliot distancing himself. Things would get awkward, and he didn’t feel capable of handling that on top of everything else.

There was also the crippling relief Quentin felt knowing that he wasn’t scared. This didn’t terrify him. Well, it did, it totally did, but not in that way. Not in a  _ bad  _ way. It also worried him, the thought of losing this thing he didn’t even really have once he was… better? But he could deal with those emotions later. Or not. Not dealing sounded fine.

Quentin decided the best course of action was to just remain where he was. He could wait for Eliot to wake on his own and move away without calling attention to anything. It felt like the safest decision. 

And it didn’t take long for Eliot to start stirring, but it was a slow process, and Quentin realized that every moment until the older man opened his eyes was going to be slow torture. Eliot eventually started to remove his arm, but then changed course, squeezing Quentin closer instead, a throaty little hum leaving him as he did so. 

And then Eliot tilted his hips, softly grinding against him, and Quentin thought he passed out for a brief moment, in utter disbelief as he felt his own dick twitch in response.  _ Fuck.  _

He was almost sure it wasn’t normal for his body to be responding to this so soon after what had happened. But was anything normal with this? And how long had he fantasized about something even close to this? He’d jerked off before just thinking of  _ kissing  _ Eliot, and this was far beyond. 

Then, Eliot went still, and moments later the warmth and weight of him was gone, leaving Quentin shocked at the cold that replaced it. He heard a softly growled  _ “fuck”  _ and it hurt him to hear the amount of anger in that one word. The bed shifted, cellophane rattled, and after a quick snap, he listened to Eliot smoke for a moment. Then, the soft foot falls of bare feet crossing the room, followed by the click of the bathroom door. 

Quentin was upset for a moment, until it hit him that Eliot had just gone into the bathroom, something he sometimes did himself to… deal with things upon waking.

_ That doesn’t mean anything,  _ he told himself, though he couldn’t help but wonder, to… imagine. 

_ Stop,  _ he told himself. It was too much to think of Eliot jerking off right on the other side of the door, to enjoy the image the idea presented even as his own body was reminding him of the pain he was still in. It was disturbing and made absolutely no sense. And Eliot had just woken up, it wasn’t like Quentin himself had given him the boner.

He took the opportunity to pull his arm back under the comforter, but didn’t try to sleep again. The alarm for his pill would probably be sounding soon, and Eliot would wake him and their day would start. His last day before he had to face everyone and return to class. 

It took longer than Quentin anticipated for Eliot to return to the bedroom, and he listened to the sound of him pulling clothes from his dresser before he was alone again. He heard the shower start moments later, and wondered what Eliot’s hair looked like wet.

_ I’ve gone insane. _

*

_ Eliot _

Eliot felt slightly less like a molester when he stepped out of the shower, fairly certain he could face Quentin now without stuttering out an apology or pinning him to the bed between his knees and finding out what his tongue tasted like. Slipping on his underwear, he held the towel to his hair in sections to absorb the excess water before tossing it onto the sink and preparing to shave. He took his time, the familiar motions helping to steady and ground him. He needed all the help he could get.

He was surprised when he left the safety of the bathroom to see Quentin sitting up in bed, already smoking, one leg bent against his chest as he rested his arm on his knee, the cigarette dangling loosely in his fingers. The pose, combined with his tangled hair and sleep-swollen eyes made him look so freshly fucked that Eliot damn near retreated back into the bathroom. 

“‘Morning,” he greeted Eliot with a sleepy grin, all dimples.

“Isn’t it?” Eliot managed, noting how his voice was slightly higher than normal, but hoping Quentin didn’t. He hurriedly walked towards his closet, feeling the need for layers today. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, um, the alarm went off. I took my pills.”

“Oh, okay. Good. I’ll get to your bandages in a minute.”

“Well, I was thinking I wanted to shower first, actually? I was kind of working up the nerve to, you know, leave the room.”

Eliot turned away from his closet to meet Q’s eyes. “You don’t have to, I can get your stuff.”

Quentin looked tired, and sad suddenly. “El, I have to do it at some point. Fuck, I have to go to  _ class  _ tomorrow.” He took a sharp drag from the cigarette, and Eliot frowned as he saw his brown eyes turn glassy. “It just hit me a minute ago, and I guess I’m sort of spiraling about it now.”

Eliot abandoned his clothes to take a seat across from Quentin, placing a firm hand on his shin. “Okay. Can you give me specifics? Maybe we can figure out a way to make things easier.”

Quentin blinked, his brow knitting thoughtfully. “It’s all kind of stupid.”

“Can I decide if it’s stupid?”

Quentin met his gaze, his brown eyes full of sadness, but there was a hint of petulance there now. It quickly disappeared, and Eliot found himself mildly disappointed. “I just… thought of leaving the room, and someone seeing me, or stopping me and trying to initiate a normal conversation, a-and it just terrifies me. Like, can I manage to act normal now? I mean, most people wouldn’t notice if I started babbling or acting like a person with minimal social skills, because that’s what everyone thinks of me already, but what if I see Alice? She’ll know something’s off, I know she will. A-And I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t even have the energy to make something up.” 

Eliot watched Quentin angrily stab the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray he’d placed on Eliot’s Egyptian cotton sheets again, and as he watched him immediately go for another one, the pack flew through the air into Eliot’s own hand. 

Quentin looked at him questioningly. “You should probably slow down on these,” Eliot advised. 

_ Oh, and it’s back,  _ he thought as Quentin’s eyes narrowed and his lips turned down. “I have my own in my room.”

“So, you’re going?” Eliot countered lightly, his gaze direct. “I’ll give you another one, Q. I’d just like you to think about it, is all.”

The anger burned in Quentin’s eyes for another moment before totally flickering out. “Fine. I just can’t do anything else until I’m off these fucking pain pills.”

Eliot mused over that. While it was true Quentin couldn’t drink… “I may be able to solve that particular problem. I’ll have to make a trip to the Treehouse,” he said with a slight shudder. “But I’ve done worse for friends.”

Quentin’s lips turned up in a wry smile. “Yeah, and probably all in the last two days.”

Eliot squeezed his leg. “Not even remotely. Let’s get back to the spiraling, though. So, leaving the room is the first problem. I can play lookout for that, easily solved. And Alice Quinn wouldn’t miss a class if her goddamn life depended on it, so she’s not here. I’m not certain, but it’s probably just the two of us for the next few hours. Plenty of time. Next problem?”

Quentin squirmed against the headboard, a greasy strand of his hair falling into his face. He did need a shower, but Eliot still wished he could tuck it back behind his ear for him. “Um,  _ sitting  _ in class? All day?”

Eliot winced. “That is actually a problem. Still, you shouldn’t miss more classes. Let’s table that one, Margo or Julia may be able to help think of something if we can’t.”

Quentin nodded, looking slightly more relaxed. “Okay. Um. So, I guess the last one is just… being alone again?” He let out a choked laugh and looked down to his own lap.

“Q, why would you be alone?” Eliot asked, his thumb lightly caressing Quentin’s knee through the fabric of his pants.

“B-Because we got this time off, and that’s been really helpful, but it’s not…  _ life.  _ It can’t stay this way, a-and I think the only reason I haven’t lost my fucking mind is because everything just feels like it’s been put on pause, or something. But I eventually have to shower, and put on actual clothes, and go downstairs, and sleep in my own  _ bed,  _ and learn to cast Braugh’s fucking Wayward Wall Charm with jubilance as a circumstance, and it’s all…” Quentin took a deep, shuddering breath, his head falling back against the headboard as he closed his eyes. 

Eliot found himself suddenly painfully grateful for being in love, even if he had just been recently forced to admit it to himself. Because being in love made you do ridiculous things like reading online articles for hours at a time on how to handle someone’s anxiety. Because Quentin’s had been obvious to him from day one but he hadn’t known what to do that day on the patio when he’d had his panic attack, and Eliot very much did not like not knowing what to do in any situation.

It had taken more time to learn the best ways to handle Q’s own personal brand of anxiety, but he felt he knew enough for this. He hoped he did. 

He quickly crawled up to sit next to Quentin, covering up his mostly naked self before he pulled him down in his lap. He’d intended for Q to be on his back, to run his fingers through his dirty hair and tug and pull because he liked pressure, he liked firmness when he got like this. 

Quentin twisted on his way down, however, and his nose was nuzzling the hair on Eliot’s stomach as he closed his eyes and gave in to the touch. Eliot plunged both hands into Q’s hair, his thumbs rubbing firmly while his fingers traced light patterns over his scalp, trying to ignore the ghosting breath against his navel. And just because he couldn’t help himself, because he’d never claimed to be selfless, Eliot let his fingers trace over the base of Q’s skull behind his left ear, fighting a smirk when Quentin shivered. Eliot even brought the edges of the comforter up to rest over his torso. “Cold?”

“Um… a little. Yeah.”

Eliot smirked.  _ Liar.  _

“So, my plan was to continue our conversation like this. Is that alright?”

“...Sure?”

“I know it’s going to be an adjustment. You’re right about that. But. No one’s abandoning you. Do you honestly think Margo is just going to leave you alone downstairs? And Julia will be with you a lot during the day. I’d honestly like to see you try to stop her.” Quentin laughed softly at that. “And… if you want to try going back to how things were, I respect and admire that, but I’m telling you that I will never be mad if I have to cuddle you to sleep for the entirety of my Brakebills career.”

The last part was difficult for Eliot to say, too close to the truth, and he felt caught when Quentin rolled back to look up at him. “El, I can’t do that to you.”

Eliot kept his fingers moving through Quentin’s hair, but his stomach turned. “What do you mean?”

“I just…” Quentin looked towards the ceiling. “I can’t ask you to change your life like that. That’s too much.”

“Too much of what?” He could feel the tension rising in Quentin’s body again, and tugged a bit too firmly on the strands between his fingers, reveling in the way it made Quentin’s eyes roll before he shut them to hide the reaction. Eliot expected a door to hell to open at any time, just for him. 

“I mean, I know your room is, um occupied? A lot. A-And you’ve already spent so much time helping me, and I still want you to be able to do what you want. You know?”

This could be dangerous ground. Eliot didn’t want to reveal too much, for so many reasons. Quentin wasn’t ready for it, and probably never would be. Eliot could arouse him, that much was clear, but it didn’t mean what he wanted it to mean. He wasn’t about to lose their friendship by scaring Quentin away, by needing him too much. 

“You can ask me now, though,” he suggested, feeling like a genius as the thought sprang to mind.

Quentin turned his head, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Eliot removed his hand from Quentin’s hair to mime their little telepathy tut. “Say you try sleeping back in your room, if that’s what you want. But if you can’t, just ask me. No one will know but you, me, and Bambi.”

“I can’t do that,” Quentin said, actually grinning, and that  _ blush. _

“Why not?” 

“What if you’re…” Quentin’s eyebrows lifted, trying to convey a point. 

“Words, Coldwater. I’m slow.”

“Fuck off,” he laughed. 

Eliot resumed his scalp massage, more lightly this time. “Whoever I may be with won’t know anything at all, and trust that I won’t mind. Margo has literally made me help her choose between skirts in the middle of a blowjob.”

“Jesus Christ,” Quentin sighed, but he was still smiling. 

“So, will that work?” 

“I… I guess I could try.”

“Would it help to tell you that I usually sleep alone?”

He saw a flash of surprise in Quentin’s eyes. “I, uh. You do?”

Eliot nodded. “I’m all for entertaining, but once the show is over and it’s agreed all parties have enjoyed themselves, I usually break things up. Unless I pass out, which has been known to happen,” he added. 

“Oh. Um, yeah. That helps.”

“Good. So, if you’re feeling better, why don’t you get a shower? When you’re done we can have breakfast downstairs. I’ll be there as a buffer if anyone wanders in. After that, we’ll visit the Nature kids for something that may take the edge off, and maybe even help with the pain without making you see melting butterflies. It won’t hurt to ask. And then I’ll show you how to cast the Wayward Wall Charm. With jubilance. It’s an easy trick, it just needs a prepping spell.”

“Um… that’s a lot.”

“It’s fine if you want to veto any part. Or all.”

“N-No, I just mean how you figure out things so fast. Like it’s easy.” Quentin sat up, smiling crookedly. “You’re kind of amazing, you know?”

Eliot tried to keep his features casual, but could feel himself blushing, a rare thing. “I’ve been called many things,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. But Quentin’s eyes called him out, called him a liar; he only smiled in response. 

“I think it all sounds doable,” he agreed. “I’ll go shower.”

“I’ll start on breakfast.”

  
  
  
  



	11. Figure Out A Way To Get Us Out Of Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "This Is Home" by Cavetown.

_ Quentin _

Although he was a little anxious, Quentin had to admit he felt somewhat better as he made his way downstairs towards the kitchen. It felt nice to be clean and dressed in real clothes, even if those real clothes were his most worn jeans and largest sweatshirt. It was a ridiculous thought, but it almost felt like armor against the world he was about to head back into. 

It was a relief to set his eyes on Eliot again, though, and Quentin didn’t feel guilty about that as he shuffled into the kitchen, leaning against the island as he watched the other man fry bacon and scramble eggs at the stove. He took a moment to just stare while Eliot’s back was turned, feeling underdressed as he usually did. Even when Eliot was obviously going for casual, he failed spectacularly. Quentin didn’t know the specific types of clothes and cuts and fabrics his friend often went on about. He just knew everything Eliot wore fit perfectly and looked costly. 

“If you want, you can stop checking out my ass and start on the toast,” Eliot suggested.

Quentin briefly fumbled for a moment before scoffing. “I wasn’t, you dick,” he laughed, but headed towards the bread box on the counter.

Eliot shrugged one shoulder and sighed. “Wasted effort, I suppose.”

Quentin shook his head and dropped the bread into the toaster before pressing the lever. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of admirers on our walk.”

Eliot only chuckled and started plating their meal.

After breakfast, both men donned their winter coats and headed away from the cottage to cross the Sea that would lead them to the Treehouse. They didn’t pass many other students on the way, as most were in class, and Quentin found he actually enjoyed the chill against his face as they walked in companionable silence.

“Shit,” Eliot suddenly said. “Remind me when we get back. Your bandages.”

“Oh. Actually, everything feels pretty okay now.”

Eliot studied his face. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, you can take a look, but I should be alright without them.”

“I would like to check the one, just for peace of mind,” he said as the perfectly manicured lawn gave way to rougher terrain at the tree line. “Watch for roots, wouldn’t want you falling over today.”

“Sure, Dad,” Quentin quipped lightly and heard Eliot growl playfully next to him. Ever since he’d learned of Eliot’s completely weird ‘Daddy’ kink a month ago, he pulled it out whenever his friend’s bossiness went just a little beyond for him.

“You’re going to make me regret my honesty with you, Quentin,” Eliot said, his tone just on the edge of dangerous. 

Quentin smiled, refusing to look at him and keeping his eyes trained on the many roots he needed to navigate over. “No idea what you’re talking about. You can tell me anything, El.”

He could almost feel Eliot’s annoyance with him like a physical presence at his back, and it was hard not to laugh as they approached the Treehouse that was home to the Nature students. Quentin had never been invited before, and was looking forward to seeing the interior, but Eliot smirked down at him as he grabbed the rope ladder. “Wait here, Q. I really don’t want to try you on a ladder today.”

Quentin looked up at the ladder, which was definitely made of rope, though an incredibly sturdy one. “I seriously can’t go?” he asked, trying not to pout. 

He watched Eliot’s expression soften for a split second before an evil gleam appeared in his eyes. He patted the side of Quentin’s face, smirking. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy will be quick.”

And Eliot started up with astonishing ease. Quentin suspected he was using his telekinesis to assist himself, and glared up at him before he disappeared inside. 

Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he found his cigarettes and lit one, resigned to wait. Instead, he jumped as a large groan sounded from behind him, whirling around to watch a set of beautifully carved stairs begin to spiral down towards the ground. Seeing the door above open, he spotted Josh Hoberman. “Welcome! Come on up. Not sure why Eliot used the damn ladder, that thing’s awful.”

“Yeah, no idea,” Quentin said dryly, already pissed off over the smile Eliot would have waiting for him. He made his way up the stairs and Josh escorted him inside.

“Wow,” Quentin couldn’t help but whisper as he looked around the common area of the Treehouse. 

Every piece of furniture and decor honestly looked like it had come from a thrift store, most of it scarred and mismatched. Curtains that had probably been dated in the 80s hung from the windows, and the aroma of pot was thick in the air. 

None of it distracted from the light rain that poured from the ceiling near the staircase, drenching nothing, or the tiny crackles of lightning that chased each other across the walls. Flowers and plants of all kinds were growing on every available open space, and small coronas of light floated through the room, seemingly of their own accord. 

Quentin spotted Eliot seated on one of the threadbare couches, his arm slung across the back and a wicked light in his eye. Quentin glared at him but made his way over, keeping about a foot of distance from the man as he seated himself.

“Why, Quentin, what’s wrong?” Eliot’s voice dripped with false concern.

He didn’t answer as Josh took a seat across from them. “What can I help you gentleman with? I’ve got class in thirty.”

Eliot leaned forward then, all business. “I’m looking for something very mellow, with the added benefit of pain relief, that won’t interfere with narcotics. Preferably edible.”

Josh winced a bit at that. “I’ve got a really good strain that’s good for all of those things, but it’s not currently in my edibles rotation. A lot of the Knowledge kids get migraines, so I keep it stocked but haven’t had time to experiment with it.”

“What do you want for it?”

“How much are you looking to buy?”

Eliot tilted his head a little. “A quarter should do for now?”

“Yeah, I’ve got you covered on that. Um, how about helping me with the next two batches?”

Eliot’s eyes narrowed. “Specifics?”

“I’m looking to add a variation on Reverse Thermogenesis to my next batch of mint chocolate, for an extra kick.”

Eliot nodded. “I have a better spell for that, but I can help. The other?”

Josh leaned forward. “There’s a first year that wants to walk through walls while he trips, and is willing to pay a  _ ton.  _ I can do the walls, but the circumstances to guarantee he doesn’t--”

“I get it,” Eliot interrupted, his lips pursing for a moment. “That’s oddly specific for an entire batch, and also possibly sketchy without knowing his intentions. Can I suggest a counter offer?”

“Of course!”

“I’ll help with the first batch, and I’ll have Todd send over some Adderall.”

“How many?”

“Ten?”

Josh seemed pleased by the offer, though Quentin had no idea if it was fair or not. “That’s a deal. Let me grab it for you.”

Once the transaction was completed, Eliot promised Josh to return the following week to help with his spellwork, and Quentin followed him down the stairs and onto the forest floor. The stairs began to retreat as soon as they stepped off of them, and Eliot pocketed the baggie within his coat. 

“That was… something,” Quentin commented as they made their way back to the Sea.

Eliot glanced at him over his shoulder. “Never been involved in a drug deal, Q?”

“I mean, not really past buying a joint at a party, no.” He struggled to keep up with Eliot’s longer stride. “El, could you slow down, maybe?”

Eliot stopped, waiting for him to catch up. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you’re just insanely tall.”

They walked side by side in silence for a moment before Eliot spoke. “So, I wanted edibles because I doubt coughing would be a pleasant experience for you right now, but if you don’t mind, I can just shotgun you. It should help.”

Quentin shrugged. “Sounds fine. I just hope it works. I’m not really looking for Margo or Jules’ advice on how to prevent ass pain, magically or otherwise.”

Eliot grinned at that. “I mean, Bambi might have an idea or two.”

“She could, but still.”

Back at the cottage, Quentin followed Eliot to his room and took a seat against the headboard while Eliot stepped into his closet and pulled out a rather unimpressive glass bong. He disappeared to fill it with water before returning to sit near Quentin on the bed.

Quentin laughed. “I think I was expecting some extravagant stained-glass art piece.”

Eliot shrugged but seemed amused. “With my record of breaking shit in my sleep, I found cheaper and available works better for me.” He stood for a moment to retrieve a tin box from his nightstand. It had a holiday picture on it, and looked old and worn. 

“What’s that?”

“What? Oh. Just a cookie tin. Didn’t your grandma have some?”

“I, uh, never actually met my grandma. Either one. They died before I was born.”

Eliot straightened a little at that, meeting his eye. “Sorry.”

Quentin shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Eliot handed the bong over to Quentin and pried the tin open, placing the lid on the mattress between them and dividing out a small amount of weed, which went into a purple grinder. Quentin saw rolling papers, several lighters and a small glass pipe inside the tin, as well, but his brow furrowed at the handful of buttons that littered the bottom. He reached forward to grab one with a pretty pattern that looked like it had come from a couch cushion, and lifted it from inside to examine it.

Eliot went completely motionless but he didn’t look up, his hands still wrapped around the grinder. 

“El?”

“Hmm?”

Feeling like he’d done something wrong, Quentin carefully placed the button back, and Eliot began twisting the grinder again as if nothing had happened. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, what’s up?”

The tone was perfectly casual, light and conversational. And also total bullshit.

“I’m sorry I touched your stuff,” Quentin said, not knowing if it was anything more specific than that.

Eliot looked up to meet his eyes, and something that reminded Quentin of a trapped animal lurked just behind his careful mask. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Eliot told him. “It’s just a button.”

“O-Okay.” He didn’t want to press, never having seen that particular look in his friend’s eyes, so he allowed Eliot to pack the bowl and set the tin aside. 

“You stay where you are, and I’ll come to you,” Eliot told him, curling to sit on his calves before he used the small fire spell to ignite the bowl, taking a moderate hit and inhaling the smoke.

Quentin waited, the air going still in his lungs as Eliot gave him a slow smile, leaning forward to invade his space and his lips parted automatically before Eliot breathed slowly against his mouth, his lips just an inch away. 

Quentin inhaled the smoke, closing his eyes, because if he didn’t he was going to lean forward; how could he stop himself? The smoke tasted strangely of ginger as it rolled over his tongue and down his throat. He felt Eliot move away and dared to open his eyes, knowing he was blushing and hoping it would just go ignored. 

“Let’s give that a minute to kick in before we go again,” Eliot sighed, leaning back on one hand.

“Y-Yeah, sounds good.”

“Can I check your back while we wait?”

“Oh, um, sure. Let me just.” Quentin squirmed away from the headboard as carefully as possible, shrugging his sweatshirt over his head, and he heard Eliot chuckle before he assisted in pulling it off. The shirt underneath was easier to remove, and Eliot reached to place the bong on his nightstand before crawling around him to look over the wounds. 

“Can I touch?”

“I mean, I guess? Just--”

“Barely at all, I promise.” 

Quentin felt Eliot’s finger trace over the wound he’d been worrying about, then two fingers trace around it. “Is it infected or something?”

“That’s the thing, it’s not red, or like, inflamed. It just doesn’t look right. Everything else is scabbing, and you know, blood-colored? There’s this tiny little section that’s black, almost. I’m going to take a closer look.”

Quentin looked over his shoulder and watched in confusion as Eliot performed the Mann Reveal, his eyes immediately widening. 

“El?”

Eliot continued to look through his framed fingers, his eyes darting over the wound. “What the  _ fuck?”  _ he hissed. “Lipson looked you over, I  _ watched _ her.” 

The fear in Eliot’s eyes wasn’t doing anything for Quentin’s nerves, even with the weed. “What is it?”

“Q, I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before. Um, get dressed, okay?”

“El, is there a fucking spell where he  _ bit _ me?”

Eliot went motionless, nodding shakily. He looked terrified. 


	12. You Can't Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Gasoline" by Halsey.
> 
> Sorry to leave you all hanging! Hopefully, this chapter makes up for it. ;)
> 
> I want to add a little note about a choice I made for this chapter. I hint to the fact that Quentin has Sensory Processing Disorder in this chapter, but I wanted to clarify that I'm not trying to say he's autistic. I know the two are related, but I just used my own experience with this, because I have some symptoms of it, but do not test on the spectrum. It's usually only a problem for me when I'm already overwhelmed by something, and I just wrote Q's anxiety like I experience my own.

_ Eliot _

Eliot wanted to drag Quentin across campus to the infirmary, but kept his pace slow to allow the shorter man to keep up with him. He knew he wasn’t exactly projecting calm, but it was difficult with all the possibilities swimming through his mind. Brakebills didn’t necessarily teach a course on violent or fatal spellwork, but their subject matter did occasionally cover curses, and anything else could be located in the library, if one knew where to look.

_ It didn’t look like a curse,  _ he thought, his memory bouncing in a dozen different directions, and why had he stayed so high through his first year? 

The thing bothering Eliot the most, the thing pushing him right to the edge of panic, was that he recognized pieces of it, from a botched love spell he’d seen right after he’d been moved to the Physical cottage. The poor girl had burned herself badly and had left the school, her memories erased. But someone had managed to snap a picture of the written spell before it had been confiscated by the professors. It had been far too advanced for an Adept to work, and she’d been lucky to survive it.

They finally reached the infirmary and Eliot led Quentin inside, his eyes darting around for the professor. 

“Can I help you?” a plump girl with elfin features asked from behind the front desk. 

“Um, can you get Lipson? I know you’re all trying to learn and everything, but you’ll have to get her anyway after you look, and it’s an emergency.”

The girl looked both men up and down. “It doesn’t appear to be--”

The vase of flowers on the counter shattered, spilling water across the papers scattered in front of the woman. The lillies tumbled to the floor and she looked at Eliot in shock.

“Now?” he asked with an upward twitch of his brow.

The girl marched away after glaring furiously at him, and Eliot turned to Quentin, studying his face for any signs of panic. He looked frightened, and his eyes darted across Eliot’s with worry. Eliot reached for his hand, running his thumbs across the knuckles.

“El, what did you see?”

“I… I don’t know for sure. Nothing that made sense. I promise I’m not keeping it from you, okay?”

Quentin nodded jerkingly.

Lipson appeared, clearly looking ready to give someone hell until she recognized them. She sighed heavily, stopping in her tracks. “Back here,” she ordered, waving her hand for them to follow.

Eliot gently pulled Quentin along, and they were ushered into a private room. After little more than a questioning look and a slight nod from Quentin, he helped his friend out of his shirts and turned him towards Lipson. “I thought you checked him,” he said, barely keeping the fury out of his voice as he gestured to the strange black wound.

“What do you mean?”

Eliot pushed into her space, his fingers performing the Reveal at an angle she could look through.

Lipson squinted, leaning closer to Quentin’s shoulder, and then her mouth fell open. “I checked him for infection and disease, not magic.” She ran her finger over the small scab. “That’s one tooth that did that.”

Eliot swallowed, nauseated. “I know that, but what is the  _ spell?” _

Lipson waved his hands away, doing her own Reveal with steadier hands. “Fuck me,” she breathed as she continued to study the wound. “That is a… military-grade tracking spell, combined with a lust spell. Sex magic. The caster would need to be sexually engaged to cast it, and then it would work as a locator? Not like the ones we teach here, this is expensive magic. There’s more to it I’m not familiar with, but this wasn’t cobbled together. Someone with knowledge as a discipline wrote this. It’s fucked, but… very well done.”

Quentin’s breathing grew harsher the longer Lipson kept talking, and Eliot couldn’t stop himself from turning him around, pulling him close to tuck his head under his chin. Lipson could assume whatever she wanted, and if Q got mad at him later, he’d deal with it. The way Quentin all but climbed inside his coat told Eliot he didn’t have much to worry about on that front. “Can you undo it?”

“I’ll need a better look at it, and help, but it can probably be removed. Sunderland will have to make sure there’s nothing going on beyond the skin, but it should be fairly simple otherwise. Just a cut.”

Eliot took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He only nodded, and Lipson left them alone to fetch Sunderland. 

As soon as the door shut, Eliot felt Quentin sob silently against him, his hands fluttering over Eliot’s sides, seeking contact. Eliot pressed Quentin tightly against him, letting him know he was welcome to any comfort he needed. He felt Quentin’s hands press into his back, curled into fists. 

Eliot wanted to let go too at that moment, to cry along with him, to just fucking fall apart. Any reason Davidson would want to keep tabs on the man was… he couldn’t think about it. But Quentin’s breaths were growing more and more ragged, and much too short. Rolling his eyes at just the  _ amount  _ of things that could go wrong, as they also shone with tears, Eliot brought his hands up to cradle Quentin’s head.

“Q? Can you feel me breathing?” It was a struggle, but he kept his voice steady, just above a whisper.

It took a moment, but Quentin finally nodded against his shoulder. 

“Focus on that, okay? Try to match it, before you pass out or something.”

Quentin nodded more quickly this time, sniffling loudly. His first few breaths sounded almost asthmatic, but after a few minutes, they were nearly in sync with one another.

“El, I’m sorry.” Quentin’s voice was hoarse with tears. 

“No,” was all Eliot could think to say in response, but he pressed his lips to Quentin’s temple and remained that way until they heard footsteps in the hall. His stomach dipped strangely when he expected Quentin to pull away and he didn’t. 

The door swung open, revealing Lipson, followed by…

“What the fuck?” Eliot deadpanned as he looked at Henry Fogg. He didn’t have the energy to shout.

“Sunderland wasn’t available, and it turns out Miss Hanson informed him of the situation this morning,” Lipson explained.

Quentin turned a bit in Eliot’s embrace. “Wait, Margo did?”

“She did indeed, Mr. Coldwater,” Fogg replied. “Please turn around again so I can examine this spell.”

Quentin faced Eliot again, looking up into his eyes, and holding there. He so rarely initiated eye contact that the fact he needed it now worried Eliot deeply. He held the stare, trying to convey calm, but if anything he felt was bleeding through to his eyes, he knew he was failing terribly.

“That is fucked up,” Fogg announced, but his voice held a hint of admiration. 

“Look, I appreciate the dedication to craftsmanship or whatever the fuck is going on here, but can you remove it or not?” Eliot asked in a clipped tone, tearing his eyes away from Quentin to glare at the dean.

“Remove as in undo it, no. There were many different spells woven together to make this. It’s a locator, yes, but only because it needs the coordinates to trigger its true purpose. And that alone gives me all the ammunition I need to go after Mr. Davidson directly without consensus from the board. We have ways of governing our own outside of Brakebills, and I intend to follow through on it.”

“What does it do?”

Fogg sighed, and Eliot was terrified to see the vaguest hint of sympathy in his eyes.

“Davidson can, at will, make Quentin come directly to him any time he wants.”

Eliot barked out an involuntary sob, and clenched his jaw so hard he fully expected to hear his teeth crack before anything else could escape, before his face could crumple into tears. This wasn’t the time or place, he couldn’t afford to lose control now. Quentin was still and silent before him, his eyes now focused on the floor. Checked out, and Eliot couldn’t help but think it was for the best.

“So there’s nothing?” he laughed, and it echoed in the small space. He hadn’t intended it to sound so amused or be so loud. “He just gets to  _ take  _ him? Whenever he wants?”

“There are several possible solutions, none of them perfect. First, we could layer the campus with additional wards. Quentin would not be able to leave. But I have to assume he would fight to leave anyway. He wouldn’t understand why, but the urge to obey the spell would be too strong. We could also keep him in a Clean room until we figure out a better plan, study the spell more, or possibly even track down who wrote it. But it’s a small room, and he’d be very isolated. I don’t know how long he’d be there.”

“Other options?”

Henry glanced at Eliot’s hands, currently circled around Quentin’s wrists. “We could counteract it. Recast the spell, create an opposing anchor. It would be… uncomfortable for Quentin if both were actively controlling him, but it would give us time.”

“What are you saying, that someone would have to do this to him again? Because fuck that, absolutely.”

“No, it wouldn’t need to be cast in exactly the same way. We could adjust the circumstances, I’m fairly certain. We’ll need to extract what we can from it first, and Quentin will need to decide on an anchor. I’ll need some time, and most likely several other Master magicians to figure out the original before we could rewrite anything close to it.”

“How long will that take?”

“I’ll work as quickly as I can, and I’ll be pulling other professors to work with me. This is a threat to one of our students, so it just became a priority. In the meantime, I can have someone drop off your coursework. Quentin will need to be supervised until this is dealt with, so he shouldn’t be roaming the campus. Neither of you have to attend class until this is resolved, but you  _ will  _ graduate. You’re both too fucked up not to.”

He sighed. “Julia Wicker. She’ll do it if you ask her.”

“Is she aware of the situation?”

“Yeah,” Eliot managed, hating to agree to it as a situation of any kind.

“Good, I may pull her in for the research on this. It’s going to be a bitch, and she’s got talent. Quentin needs to be watched at all times until then. Since Miss Hanson and Miss Wicker seem to be in the know, maybe you can take it in shifts if they’re available. I’m not excusing them from classes, though, so the bulk of this will be on you, Eliot.”

He nodded, watching Fogg and Lipson exit the room. Lipson had the heart to close the door behind her.

“Q?”

Quentin didn’t look up at him and after a moment, he slowly shook his head. “I’m tired,” he said, his voice ragged.

“I know, darling.” Eliot turned to gather his shirts from the exam bed, and Quentin moved enough to assist him in getting dressed again, but his eyes were vacant as Eliot smoothed down his hair. “Let’s head back, okay?”

Quentin was silent as they crossed the campus, his head down. Eliot wanted to reach for his hand, but couldn’t quite gather the courage, and wasn't sure the touch would be welcomed in the middle of the Sea with so many onlookers. Instead, he thought of next steps, anything proactive he could do. He thought getting Quentin to eat anything in this state was going to be the biggest hurdle, but he had time before he had to try. Then, possibly setting an alarm spell to alert them if Q left the cottage. He couldn’t believe on top of all of this, they were going to have fucking coursework. 

The common room was empty when Eliot led Quentin into the house, stopping at the foot of the stairs. “Um, I know you probably don’t want to eat right now, but…” 

“El?” 

Eliot looked down at Quentin, whose eyes were absolutely pleading with him for something. “You don’t have to eat, I’m sorry. It can wait,” he rushed to tell him.

“No, just…” Quentin’s tongue darted over his lower lip. “This is a bad idea, and I just want you to know I’m aware of that and know what it means. But can you just get me, like, so high I’m too fucked to even know what’s going on? Please? I-I’ll try to do whatever you want after that, I just…” He blew out a burst of air from his lungs before looking at Eliot for an answer.

Eliot wanted to cry, but instead he smiled fondly down at his friend. “I think I can make that happen, yeah.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Quentin laughed shakily, and they started up the stairs together, closing themselves into the bedroom. Quentin immediately slipped his shoes off and started undressing like he was suddenly angry at his clothes.  _ Well, okay,  _ Eliot thought, sliding out of his vest before he started plucking at the buttons on his shirt. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but knew for a fact that Quentin’s clothes were in his own bedroom, and he had nothing to change into. 

He must have been a bit obvious, because as he forced his attention back to removing his own shirt, Quentin spoke. “Um, this is okay, right? I’m burning up and clothes just kind of… I don’t know, like, really fucking suck when I’m like this. I can go grab something, if you want.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eliot assured him, sliding his pants off as he listened to Quentin climb into bed with a sigh.

“Do you, um, want me to get the box? I-It’s okay if you don’t.”

“Q…” Eliot dropped his sock to the floor, content to neaten his room later. He needed to deal with this now, as much as he seriously did not want to.

Quentin was resting against the headboard, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, his legs open and crossed at the ankles as he looked at Eliot questioningly. Just the picture of innocence, with no idea of what he was doing to Eliot’s resolve. 

Willing himself to not be distracted by the fact that he suddenly had all the time in the world to study Quentin’s body in detail, Eliot took a steadying breath and lifted himself onto the mattress, also in his underwear, since he’d chosen a pair of boxers that morning. Quentin didn’t seem surprised or bothered by it, so he settled himself across from him, and motioned for him to grab the box. While Quentin twisted over to do so, Eliot’s hazel eyes roamed down his stomach, across his thighs, and down his calves. He loved the juxtaposition of Quentin Coldwater, how small and almost frail he often seemed, and somehow so utterly masculine at the same time. 

“H-Here,” Quentin offered, and Eliot looked up to take the tin from his hands. 

“So,” Eliot started, clearing other thoughts from his mind as he opened the metal box and began pinching from the bag Josh had given them, “I did kind of freak out earlier. But it wasn’t your fault, and I’m not mad about it or anything.”

“Okay. You don’t have to tell me, Eliot.”

Eliot’s hands moved from muscle memory as he looked to Quentin. “There’s just… there are very few things I have from home, if you want to call it that. From where I grew up, anyway. Everything else is gone now, except for that. And I don’t even know why I’ve kept it, to be honest.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about where you came from or whatever, but I don’t see what’s wrong with wanting to keep something of your grandmother’s around.”

Eliot gestured for the bong on the nightstand, and Quentin handed it over. “It, um, it was my grandma’s originally, but uh, my mom kept it. It was hers. I guess it was meant to be some sort of sewing kit or something, but she was usually too drunk to thread a needle, so who knows? Anyway, she died a few months after I started here.” He chuckled humorlessly as he twisted the grinder. “I read about it online.”

“Wait, no one called you?” Quentin sounded angry on his behalf, which was sweet.

“Q. I know I don’t share as a habit, but what do you assume about me?” Quentin looked confused. “I’ll elaborate. I’ve learned that you were raised by your parents for a while. Mom left to pursue something with her life partner. Got that from Julia by the way, no prying involved. I don’t know much else, but I assume your parents could afford good schools, but not the best. A quiet neighborhood, middle class? Fairly little trauma?”

Quentin’s brow furrowed. “I mean, that’s super vague and generic, but yeah. For the most part.”

“I’m not trying to belittle your life, just saying that we all make assumptions. So, what about me? Ever thought about it?”

Quentin’s eyes were still so tired, but a little smile quirked on his lips. “I, um, I guess I thought… rich, obviously. Probably private schools. Maybe even kicked out of a few.” Eliot laughed quietly. “Maybe a dysfunctional family, but like the cocaine in fancy bathrooms kind?”

“That would have been the dream,” Eliot admitted, turning the bong in his fingers. “I’ve worked so hard to give everyone something close to that image. But I still can’t let go of a box of fucking buttons.”

“El…”

He met Quentin’s eye. “I grew up on a farm, Q. In a pissant town in Indiana. We were poor, and before the kids were beating me up for being queer, they were beating me up for coming to school smelling like goat shit. My brothers got away with it, but I guess I just had the kind of face you want to hit.” He smirked. “My dad certainly thought so. I don’t know why I took the box. My mom, she made an effort early on, I guess? Tried to intervene, then tried to just stop me from being  _ me,  _ like I could just hide it somehow, force it down. A-And I  _ tried.  _ I thought I could make it all better that way, for a while. Make her stop drinking, make my dad stop throwing both of us around. 

“But it didn’t matter. I cut my hair, and stopped tailoring my shitty clothes, and I fucked a girl after my Junior prom and I didn’t hate it, per se. But he still saw me. He still knew. And I realized I hated myself more by that point than I hated being hit. So I left.”

“Jesus Christ, Eliot.”

Seeing the sadness in Quentin’s eyes brought Eliot back to himself, and he shook his head, laughing almost silently. “Shit, I didn’t mean to take all the fucking depression for myself today. My bad.”

“Don’t.” Quentin’s hand latched onto Eliot’s wrist. “Don’t use today to do that.”

“To do what?”

“To hide.”

“Ouch,” he said with a subtle lift of his brow. 

“Look, I can respect it if you don’t want to tell me more, but just because I’m having the shittiest day of my life doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to talk about yours.”

“Noted, I guess. There’s really not much after that, though.”

“How old were you?”

“When I left? Almost seventeen.”

“But… I don’t understand how you got all the way to New York as a minor, and then managed to get into SUNY with no diploma.”

“Well, that didn’t start out fun,” he admitted. “And I’ll be honest, I don’t want to talk about most of it. I do trust you, Q. I just don’t even think about it if I can help it. Let’s just say I landed in New York a lot less innocent than I left Indiana.”

“El.” 

Eliot shook his head at Quentin’s horrified expression, unwilling to take the sympathy. “I didn’t do anything I wasn’t willing to do. I never have. Growing up as the runt of the litter, I didn’t have to, I could mostly take care of myself. I got food, shelter, rides… a lot of times for nothing at all. Nice people do exist. Anyway, I was on my own for a few weeks in New York before a group of hedges took me in, and I eventually started building who I am now. Got my GED, legally changed my name the day I turned eighteen, and got into SUNY on scholarships and two jobs.” He picked up one of the buttons from the tin, a pale blue one with a pair of holes through the middle. “And I have never figured out why I hold onto these, or why I even fucking took them with me.”

There was a brief silence before Quentin spoke.

“Was it always Eliot?”

He smiled. All of that dumped on him, and Quentin only had one question. “Yeah. I’ve always been Eliot.”

Quentin smiled, almost shyly. “Good. I can’t imagine you ever being anyone else.”

_ Goddamn you,  _ Eliot thought, his heart feeling like it physically clenched in his chest, like he was some heroine in a badly-fitted bodice. “Well,” he sighed. “Let’s get fucked up, shall we?” 

Quentin’s soft smile turned almost feline. “Please?”

Eliot balanced himself on his knees, lighting the bowl and taking a deep hit, the chamber filling with smoke. He inhaled without clearing it, not wanting to overpower Quentin and cause him to start coughing. He’d get him fucked up, but they’d take their time. 

Quentin started to lean forward, ever eager, but Eliot shook his head, motioning him back, and braced his arm against the headboard, leaning forward to exhale into Q’s waiting mouth, watching as his brown eyes fell shut and he breathed in. Eliot cupped his hand over the top of the glass, leaning back once more. “You didn’t say, did the hit you had earlier help any?”

“With the pain?” he asked, eyes still closed. “I, um, honestly haven’t had a chance to notice a difference?” He sounded a little breathless, and Eliot wondered if the smoke was already taking effect.

“Fair. Round two?”

Quentin nodded, and Eliot cleared the container, taking enough to almost start coughing himself before he leaned towards Quentin again, who inhaled eagerly, almost sucking the smoke from Eliot’s lips. Eliot’s own eyes fell shut, because this was fucking torture, but he’d do it all day as long as Quentin asked him to. 

“El, back up, back up, back up.”

It was barely a whisper, but Eliot obeyed immediately, sitting down this time to study Quentin in concern. “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Quentin still wouldn’t open his eyes. They were actually squeezing more tightly shut. “I, um. I just.” He shook his head, unwilling or unable to continue.

Eliot couldn’t stop the pain he immediately felt, but quickly shoved it away. It wasn’t Q’s fault if the rejection hurt. “It’s fine if you don’t want me that close, you just have to tell me, okay?”

Quentin’s eyes flew open, looking… well, increasingly stoned, but also uncomfortable. Not “you’re scaring the fuck out of me” uncomfortable. More like the kind when Margo teased him about his sex life. “I-It’s not that, please don’t think that.”

“Okay, but I need a little more to go on. Are you freaking out? Because I paid a high price for this, and if Josh fucked it up--”

“N-No. I mean,  _ yes,  _ but I don’t really feel all that high yet. From the neck up, anyway, I think the rest of me is going numb.”

“Good numb?”

“Y-Yeah. But what you thought, i-it’s kind of the opposite of that?”

Eliot watched in confusion as Quentin blushed a deep, sudden scarlet, the red creeping all the way down his chest. What had he thought, and what was it the opposite of?  _ Fuck, this was worth it, I guess.  _ The head change was immediate, but not intense. He did feel pleasantly heavy, however.

_ If you don’t want me that close. _

_ The opposite of that. _

Eliot blinked, eyes widening slightly, watching Quentin squirm under his gaze. He felt like the breath had been punched out of him. “Quentin…”

“Please don’t, I know. Okay? I’m fucked in the head, I know that. Can we forget about it?”

“Did you want me to  _ kiss you?” _

Quentin looked up to the ceiling, his expression miserable and even sadder for his pink cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Eliot’s grasp of reality felt suddenly shaky, and he risked reaching out to press his hand to one of Quentin’s shins. “Don’t… be sorry. I don’t think human brains are meant to process the kind of day you’ve had. It’s bound to fire off a few crazy urges, I guess.”

He knew he’d said the wrong thing when two single tears slid down the sides of Quentin’s face. “Yeah.”

“Quentin, talk to me? Tell me what you need, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

“...Could you make me stop ruining everything?” he laughed, his voice rough with tears. “That would be great right now.”

“Ruining?” He squeezed Quentin’s leg. “Look at me?”

Quentin angled his gaze down. He looked so raw, so fucking sad Eliot couldn’t stand it. “Fine, fuck it. Yeah, I wanted you to kiss me. A-And I even know you would if I asked you to, even if you didn’t really want to. But I can’t. Because it would help, right now? But it would make everything so much worse later. I can’t risk that, El.”

“Q, I hope you know our friendship could withstand a kiss,” Eliot said, forcing a casual tone, and how many times could a heart break in just a few days? How fucking many? “I mean, I’ve blown friends for--”

_ “No,”  _ Quentin growled, and Eliot’s lips parted in shock as he watched fresh tears run down his face. “I don’t want you to kiss me because you feel bad for me, o-or so I can forget for five fucking minutes. It would be using you, but it would be worse for me, t-to have it once and know it didn’t mean anything beyond that.” Eliot felt his face go slack, and he was almost positive it wasn’t from the weed. “Because it’s already so hard, not to fall into this. I-I keep stealing little pieces away for later, and they’re going to hurt so  _ much.  _ And you keep giving them to me, and you don’t know, and it’s not fair.” He met Eliot’s gaze directly. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me since the first time you said my name, Eliot.” 

_ Isthisfuckinghappening? _

_ “Please,  _ don’t,” he said before Eliot could try to speak, though he wasn’t sure what words had planned on tumbling out. “I’m fucking up royally, so let me try to save what I can, okay? And then if you want me to go, I will. Or if you just want to keep smoking until we hopefully forget this entire conversation, I’d be really good with that. I just have to say the rest. I know it’s not like that for you. I’m okay with that, I really am. So don’t feel sorry for me, and please--”

_ This is happening. _

“Fuck you, Coldwater,” Eliot breathed, crossing the space between them, crawling between Quentin’s knees and surging forward to press their lips together, remembering to be gentle and not bang Q’s head against the bed at the last second. 

The angle was terrible, leaving Eliot unable to do anything more than caress Quentin’s lips with his own for a brief moment. It also took Quentin half that moment to catch up to what had happened and return the pressure, so softly and sweetly that Eliot wondered if he was fully aware. 

Reluctantly, Eliot moved back, just enough to study Quentin’s face, to watch his eyes open, his large pupils searching. “El?”

“Even if I should apologize for that, I don’t think I can. But if you’re too high…”

Quentin shook his head slightly, his teeth scraping over his lower lip. The sight caused a ragged breath to escape Eliot as he watched, everything in him wanting to repeat the motion with his own teeth. “Q, tell me what to do,” he pleaded, barely a whisper.

“I… fuck, don’t do it again if you’re just trying to make me feel better, o-or shut me up, and why am I fucking  _ talking?” _

Eliot smiled at that. “I can fix that, if you want me to?”

Quentin’s eyes darted rapidly over Eliot’s face, full of trepidation, and… hope? “A-And since when have you wanted to kiss me?”

Eliot smirked, but was certain the effect was ruined by how absolutely  _ gone  _ he was feeling. 

“Quentin Coldwater?” he murmured, perfectly mimicking the very first words he’d ever spoken to the boy who was currently staring into his eyes with stunned disbelief. Eliot’s heart raced as the disbelief gave way to something else, something fueled by desire, and Quentin surged forward, capturing Eliot’s mouth in a heated kiss.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments! I know I usually don't reply, but that's just because I'm an awkward mess. I love reading them, they make my day!


	13. Beautiful Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from a song by Jackie Therrien.
> 
> Good morning! Or whatever time it is for you. So, I feel the need to explain a few things. Not due to any comments, you all have been wonderful and I'm overwhelmed every day when I read them. I made a couple of decisions when writing this story, and I just want to explain them further. Possible trigger in this note, though, but I figure I've warned about that enough in my tags. 
> 
> I know I wrote in the beginning notes that I would not take criticism for the choices I made when writing this. That said, I should have clarified that any questions are welcome and and encouraged. I am very open about my experiences with sexual assault- because I feel it should be talked about, but I totally understand not everyone is able to do that. Quentin's experience in this is written from my own perspective; someone who had this terrible thing happen to them, but at the same time something wonderful is also happening. It was a strange experience for me. I'm not glossing over the assault, trust me. It will come back up.
> 
> The other thing I know is a bit different is Eliot. I made the choice to make him a bit more openly vulnerable due to what happened. In my opinion, it would have forced some things with him. That's a personal decision, and I'll totally take shit for it. 
> 
> The third thing, to end this on a lighter note, is something that has annoyed me about the Magicians forever, so I changed it. Why is there not an actual bar in the Cottage??? I get they're in school, but come on. So, I gave Eliot a bar. Nothing grand, just a small counter and a couple of shelves underneath. I didn't even realize I'd done it until I was twenty chapters in. I tried to keep everything in the Cottage true to the show, but it was a pet peeve of mine. 
> 
> Sorry for the rant, please enjoy!

_ Quentin _

Quentin was aware he often made stupid decisions, but when Eliot responded eagerly to his clumsy attempt at a kiss, easily taking control of it, he melted against the headboard, unable to think at all.

Eliot followed him down without breaking contact, his lips pulling and tongue teasing at the corners of Quentin’s mouth. He felt the dip of the mattress, moved and shifted as Eliot gently manhandled him where he wanted him, until he was fully lying down with Eliot over and around him, the taller man braced on his hands and knees.

Then Eliot  _ licked  _ into his mouth, filthy as Quentin had ever imagined but somehow  _ more,  _ and he let out a humiliating, broken sound against his lips.

_ “Fuck,  _ Q,” Eliot groaned in response, and Quentin felt calloused fingers slide up his neck, twitching as if they wanted to grasp. “I think we better stop, for now.”

Quentin wanted to protest but found he couldn’t catch his breath to do so, and Eliot unfolded himself, looking down at him with an appreciative gaze that warmed him from head to toe. He couldn’t find words as Eliot swung his left leg back and settled against Quentin’s side, propped on one elbow to just keep looking, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.

Quentin was struggling to believe the sight of the flushed skin of Eliot’s face, or the slight panting he heard that matched his own.  _ I did that,  _ he thought, bewildered and excited. 

“So,” Eliot said, his entire expression an obvious performance that contrasted wildly with the shocking and apparent shyness in his eyes. Seeing it made Quentin beam at him.  _ “Stop,  _ with your fucking dimples.”

Quentin laughed. “I really want to let you act super cool about this, but I’m high, and you’re so fucking cute right now.”

Eliot’s lashes lowered coquettishly, even as his lips pursed in annoyance. “Q,” he began conversationally, “A minute ago I made it my goal in life to catalogue every sound I can make come out of that mouth of yours.” He leaned down with a teasing smile, and Quentin’s heart stuttered in his chest. “But I already think my favorite one is going to be how you yelp when I smack your ass over what a fucking  _ brat  _ you are.”

Quentin felt himself flush, his stomach dropping with want. “W-Well, I hope it does it for you, when the time comes.”

Eliot’s eyes flared wide at his brazenness and he snapped forward to press a firm kiss on the corner of Quentin’s mouth. “Oh, I’ll make sure,” he promised before pulling away. “But as much as I’d like to make out until…” he waved his fingers ambiguously. “We should talk about this.”

Quentin tried to shove down the sharp fear those words caused. “Um, o-okay, but if you turn me down now, I might be pissed.”

Eliot chuckled, and that soft look returned to his eyes. “No, there’s just a lot to talk about. You’ve been keeping a big secret from me.”

Quentin looked up at him sheepishly. “I just… figured I’d rather be your friend than nothing at all,” he tried to explain.

“I’m not asking for an apology. It’s not like I’ve been innocent of that, either.” Eliot’s hand reached for his, their fingers sliding against each other over Quentin’s stomach. “I just… is that why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you were feeling… curious that night?”

Quentin took in a shaky breath. He’d honestly managed to forget, just for a minute. “I mean, yeah, but Eliot…”

Eliot’s longer fingers curled over Quentin’s, his eyes distant. “I’m not trying to throw myself in a pit, don’t worry. I just wish I’d… been braver, I guess?”

“Braver? El, it’s just me.”

“Just you,” he laughed quietly, and his eyes were bright with fear as they met Quentin’s. “Quentin... I’m terrified of you.” He voiced it like a question. “It’s… been a new feeling for me, a-and I might not have handled it in the best way. No surprise there. But I can be better, if you really want this.” He squeezed Quentin’s hand, his eyes darting away. “I hope you want this.”

“You’re… you mean, like… a relationship?” 

Eliot looked at him curiously. “Yeah?”

“O-Oh. I mean, yes. I-I want that,” he rushed to say, completely overwhelmed that Eliot had kissed him, more than once, and that there was something even better beyond that on the table. “I guess I’m just… what does that look like, with you?”

“I honestly don’t know. If you’re asking if I can be monogamous…”

“I mean, yeah, that’s kind of what I’m asking, but it makes me feel like a dick.”

“No, I get it. I think I’ll be good with whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Really?”

Eliot sighed, meeting his eyes with uncertainty. “Q, do you want me to tell you that I’ll have boring, vanilla sex with you for as long as you’ll let me? Because I can do that.”

Quentin smiled, untangling his hand from Eliot’s to pull him down into a chaste kiss, still stunned that he was allowed to. “I didn’t say anything about boring  _ or  _ vanilla,” he complained gently. “But thank you. I guess I’m just nervous because… you can have anyone you want, and frequently have. I just don’t really know how to compete with that? But I want to.”

“It's not a competition," Eliot told him. "I’ve enjoyed that, I won’t lie, but it’s not the same as this.” He ran the back of his fingers across Quentin’s jaw, traveling up to tuck his hair behind the shell of his ear and grinning when it made Q shiver. “Can you trust that, for now?”

“Maybe if you kiss me again?” he asked, unable to stop himself, or the blush that crawled over his skin. 

“Hmm,” Eliot hummed, but he was already leaning down and Quentin whimpered as Eliot’s tongue traced his bottom lip. Finding it the perfect opportunity to do something he’d never dared to before, Quentin lifted his hand and pushed his fingers into Eliot’s hair, combing through the curly strands. Eliot made a little noise of approval, smiling before he deepened the kiss. 

Quentin wasn’t sure how long they remained that way, fueled by marijuana and lust, but he felt light-headed when Eliot finally drew away. “You’re distracting,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, is there somewhere you need to be?”

Eliot sat up, arching one perfect eyebrow. “Yes, I need to be finding my boyfriend something to eat.”

Quentin couldn’t stop the smile those words brought to his face and Eliot returned it brilliantly.

*

_ Margo _

Margo was surprised to find Quentin and Eliot in the common area when she returned to the cottage that afternoon, an array of books and papers littering the coffee table and floor around them.

Quentin looked… good, considering Julia had already informed her of the spell ticking away in his skin. He’d showered and was currently tucked into the corner of one of the sofas, a book propped open across his knees as he chewed his lip thoughtfully. Margo noted the glass of water and the half-eaten sandwich next to him. 

Eliot had his back to Margo, seated on the floor with three books open in front of his crossed ankles, his long index finger skimming over a list of circumstances. “El, don’t tell me you’ve finally given into Q’s nerdy ways,” she announced herself, taking a seat on the other end of the couch Quentin was barely occupying. 

Eliot only chuckled softly. “You could say that.”

Margo rolled her eyes. One day of classes, and her boys were coming up with inside jokes. “Julia hasn’t even brought your homework, she said she had to get with Fogg first.”

“This isn’t homework,” he told her. “Q had some from last week that we finished earlier, but this is…” He looked away from the book, and there was something… missing from his eyes. It startled her, but she kept herself in check. “Did Julia…”

“Fill me in? Yeah.” She looked to Quentin who seemed almost nervous as he peeked over his book at her like a little field mouse. “That’s fucked, Q. Sorry about it.” He only shrugged. “We’ll fix it, though.”

“That’s the plan,” Eliot sighed. “I know they’ve got people better than us on this, but I’d like to do some research myself before I play guinea pig to a bunch of psychopaths with teaching degrees.”

“El, you don’t have to,” Quentin spoke up, and Margo watched Eliot look at him pointedly, that  _ difference  _ more apparent in his eyes.

“I’m not letting anyone else. And Fogg gave me the time. Okay?”

Quentin squirmed but quickly nodded, as if they’d discussed it already. 

“Well, fuck. Hand me a book, I guess. What are we looking for?”

Eliot held an open book out to her. “Try to find the fine line between the circumstances I cast best under and the ones I can actually bring to the table for this.”

“Jeez, challenge me,” she teased, leaning back to start reading. Eliot smiled, and not knowing what that difference was suddenly making her itchy. “El, can I talk to you for a minute?” She made a point not to glance at Quentin. 

“Of course,” Eliot replied easily, standing from the floor and letting her lead him into the hall. “What’s going on?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

A hint of amusement crossed her best friend’s face as he regarded her innocently. “I mean, it’s been a day, Bambi. You know that.”

“Nuh-uh. You don’t get to do that,” she told him, tapping her nail against a button on his shirt. “You and baby Q don’t get secrets just because I don’t have time to roll around in bed with you all day.”

Eliot’s cheeks turned the barest shade of pink at that and Margo gasped. “Eliot Waugh, you will tell me  _ everything  _ right now!” she hissed. 

Eliot’s eyes darted towards the common room and back to her, and was that… happiness? Glee?  _ What the fuck is my life right now? _

“So… Q and I might have… kissed. More than once.”

Margo’s jaw dropped at the confession. If it were anyone but Eliot, she may have questioned him for kissing Quentin after what had happened to him, but Eliot wasn’t that guy. He was exhaustingly thorough when it came to boundaries and consent, to the point it often drove her up the wall. But she’d learned from him, too. 

The shocking thing was the complete lack of the mask he usually wore to protect his feelings. It was just gone, and it scared her. 

“El… is he in a good place to make a decision like that? I’m not questioning  _ you,  _ but are you sure? Because if he hurts you.”

“Bambi, we’re together,” he told her, and she watched the joy and terror clash in his eyes. “And we talked.  _ God, _ we talked. Nothing until he’s ready, until  _ I  _ feel he’s ready. B-But he… he said he’s felt this way the whole time.” 

Eliot’s smile was brittle and beautiful, and she knew what it was costing him, to show even that little bit of vulnerability. Margo couldn’t help the grin that stretched her lips as she stood on her toes to kiss him. “Of course he has, who wouldn’t? Let’s go back to your boy, then.”

Quentin was actively not looking at either of them as they returned to their seats, and Margo let him stew for a few minutes, actually trying to do what Eliot had requested with the damn circumstances, because it  _ was _ important. But a larger part of her focus was directed at thinking up the exact right question that would turn Quentin beet red without making Eliot angry at her. Quentin was a little fragile right now, but she felt they all needed to retain some sense of normalcy. “So, El?”

“Hmm?” 

“Does he make those cute little puppy noises I guessed he would?”

Eliot shot her a scandalized look, and she grinned as she turned her head to find Quentin already trying to sink into the sofa cushion. She tilted an eyebrow at him. “I mean, you could tell me if you want?”

Quentin narrowed his eyes at her, then exchanged a look with Eliot before sighing in defeat. “Just tell her, you know you’re going to anyway,” he grumbled, but his lips twisted as he tried not to smile, his face just as red as Margo had wanted.

“Bambi, you’re terrible.”

“Hm. Well, I could have asked if you think his ass will pink up as quick as his cheeks.”

Quentin sputtered indignantly, his eyes wild, and Eliot’s laughter rang through the room like a bell.

*

_ Quentin _

After a few more graphically personal questions from Margo, the three of them settled into a comfortable silence as they researched. Other students passed through the common room, some even sitting on the other sofa for a time, but when it became clear that Margo and Eliot were not going to be swayed into making drinks or flirting, they were eventually left alone. Eliot did walk to the bar for a glass of bourbon after some time passed, but seemed to forget all about it after a sip, setting it aside. 

Quentin couldn’t help but glance up every few minutes from his reading, taking Eliot in. He kept shifting position on the floor, but never moved to find a more comfortable seat, seeming fully engrossed in the large, dusty book before him. It really was too big for him to bring it onto the couch, however, and Quentin definitely wasn’t feeling healed enough to join him on the floor. 

He managed to turn his attention back to his book, but the cottage door opened minutes later, revealing Julia.

“Hey,” she greeted them, taking a seat in an empty chair and withdrawing a small spiral notepad from her bag. “I come bearing homework.” She ripped out a few pages, slapping them on the coffee table. “Sunderland said she could stop by later this week to grade your wall charm, Q?”

“Yeah, I got it done today, so I’m ready.” 

“Did you meet with Fogg?” Eliot asked, picking up the pages she’d provided to look them over. 

“I did. He’s got almost all the professors working on it, trying to parse out what spells were used to make this one and how they were tied together. There’s even been talk of allowing Mayakovsky to portal in.”

“Fuck,” Margo commented, looking impressed.

“That’s probably not a bad idea,” Eliot mused. “Have they gotten anywhere?”

“Well, the important part is being able to create a second anchor, and I’ve actually been drafted to figure that out. I told them I couldn’t really do it without you guys, so here I am. We’ll get as far as we can, and I’ll meet with Fogg about it tomorrow.”

Eliot nodded. “We’ve been kind of reading anything we thought might be helpful. Q’s been studying resistance spells, I’ve got a couple of alarm spells I’m going to set later, just in case, and Bambi’s trying to figure out the best way for me to cast sex magic while I’m stressed as fuck and also somehow not having sex. So, besides the equivalent of a magic bell around Q’s neck, we’ve got nothing.”

Quentin hated to see Eliot looking so tense. He knew figuring out a way to cast the spell again was important; he didn’t want to be dragged off campus against his will, or to end up hurting someone trying to do it. Knowing it could happen at any time… “Hey, anyone want to go smoke?”

Eliot looked at him as if he’d just remembered nicotine existed, nodding resolutely. “Yes. Gods, yes.” He stood up and walked to the bar, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from a shelf beneath the counter and holding out his hand for Quentin to join him. 

Eliot all but fell into one of the patio chairs, his hand coming up to massage his neck. He then pulled two cigarettes from the pack, lit both, and passed one to Quentin. “I’ve read more today than my entire first year here.”

Quentin chuckled. “Yeah, it’s been a lot. My eyes were starting to cross, and I don’t think I even found anything useful.”

“I think my contacts are fusing to my eyeballs,” Eliot groaned with a laugh, slouching in his seat.

“You wear contacts? I’ve never seen you take them out.”

“They’re the kind you can sleep in, and I usually just refresh them with magic when I need to. Got distracted, I guess,” he said, exhaling a long cloud of smoke. “Though I’m thinking of moving this whole study group to my room so I can take them out. It’ll probably get loud down here soon, anyway. Todd was trying to mix daiquiris at the bar.” Eliot’s eyes met his, his lips quirking into a little smile. “So, you know Margo is telling Julia right now, don’t you?”

Quentin sighed, rolling his eyes. “I actually hadn’t put that together, no.”

“Think I’ll get the talk?”

“With Julia? Probably.” Quentin laughed. “Except you kind of look like you’re looking forward to it.”

Eliot shrugged a shoulder. “”I think I’ll survive it. And it’s something boyfriends go through, right? The protective sibling thing? It’s new to me, is all.”

“I can tell her to go really hard on you, if you want.”

Eliot chuckled. “I don’t think you have to tell her.” His smile turned slightly sinister. “Want me to give you a hickey before we go back inside?” 

“Oh, you’re  _ that  _ kind of boyfriend,” Quentin laughed, though he felt himself blushing at the thought of walking back into the common room with an obvious mark from Eliot on his skin. 

“Of course I am. I fully intend to ruin you for anyone else,” Eliot told him, his eyes full of promises. 

Quentin swallowed against the urge to tell him that ship had probably already sailed.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. What Are You Wondering?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "bury a friend" by Billie Eilish.
> 
> Hello! I am posting two chapters today, because it's Saturday and I want to. Honestly, part of me wants to post all 45, and the 15 other parts I've written to this series, but I'm trying to give myself some time to write my next fic, which is not being nearly as cooperative as this one was. Hope you enjoy.

_ Eliot _

Once the group and their piles of books were closed into Eliot’s room, with only the slightest tension between Julia and Quentin that Eliot felt compelled to ignore for the moment (or perhaps eternity), he excused himself to step into his bathroom. 

He refused to let himself entertain the fact that he felt even remotely  _ nervous  _ at the possibility that Julia might be  _ upset  _ that he and Quentin were dating. Or the possibility that it might somehow influence Q’s opinion on everything that had transpired since that morning. 

It wouldn’t. It was ridiculous to even consider. Quentin had told Eliot he’d wanted this, and Eliot hadn’t manipulated it into happening, or lied for it or--

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look into the mirror, smoothing his expression into something acceptable. 

He heard Julia laugh through the bathroom door and glared tiredly at himself after he watched his shoulders visibly relax. He’d only been thinking of Quentin when he’d opened himself to the idea of being vulnerable to someone, to letting someone  _ see  _ him besides Margo. And God, it had been excruciating, just admitting to Quentin what he’d wanted. And Margo  _ did  _ see him, but she also let him hide. 

The problem with Quentin was, Eliot couldn’t hide. This was too new, too fragile, and Quentin didn’t believe in himself enough, didn’t believe he  _ could _ be loved enough to do all the heavy lifting here. 

But Eliot hadn’t considered that with Q also came his connections to the world, the foremost being Julia. And beyond that, Quentin had actual  _ parents,  _ possibly a whole family? The thought of showing that vulnerability outside of the two of them was horrifying, and it made him feel sick. 

His phone ‘dinged’ within the pocket of his pants, and Eliot sighed as he retrieved it, seeing “Bambi” on the screen. He flicked the screen to unlock it and read the message.

_ Ovary up, you baby. She’s not pissed at you.  _

Eliot exhaled a shaky laugh and pocketed the phone again. He kind of deserved that.

Plucking the dry contacts from his eyes, Eliot watched the bathroom around him go soft and unfocused as he tossed them into the trash. He’d put a new pair in tomorrow, when his eyes weren’t so fucking irritated.

Which meant two more people in the entire world were about to see Eliot Waugh in his glasses. His glasses that stayed stashed in the very back of his nightstand drawer because he only wore them when there was absolutely no other choice. The only part of his wardrobe that wasn’t plastered with a designer label, because clothes were easy to steal or replicate as a magician, but when a prescription was tied to something, it made things more difficult. Which meant dipping into a budget so small he couldn’t even afford the doctor’s visits required to obtain the Adderall he suspected he might actually need, behind all his jokes about substance abuse. Everything else in his life came from Margo’s hefty pocketbook, and he’d stopped trying to argue over  _ that _ early in their first year, but she hadn’t won the argument over the ridiculously expensive pair of frames she’d wanted to buy him, only because he’d convinced her he’d never actually wear them. 

Bracing himself, Eliot left the safety of the bathroom to find Margo and Julia resting against his headboard, already reading, and Quentin stretched out sideways at their feet, leaving an obvious place behind him that Eliot couldn’t help but smile over. As casually as possible, he snatched the plain, wire-framed glasses from their hiding place and pushed them up his nose before stretching out behind Quentin on the bed, his hand resting on the other man’s hip. 

Quentin was having none of it. He immediately started squirming to turn himself around, so quickly Eliot almost warned him of hurting himself, but the look on Q’s face when their eyes met plucked the words from his mouth. 

_ Oh? _

Eliot felt a flame lick up through him at unabashed  _ lust  _ radiating from Quentin’s eyes as they roamed across his. He immediately amended his plans for his next box of contacts. Margo wouldn’t chew him out for going the cheaper route if it got him looks like this every night when he took them out.

“Are you done letting us in on your little nerd kink, Coldwater?” Margo groused, slapping the book in her lap shut. Eliot heard Julia snort delicately, like that was a possible thing, and Q’s expression turned slightly sheepish if no less horny as Eliot helped him turn himself back over to focus on the pile of books in the middle of the bed. “What’s the plan? Or the plan to actually  _ make  _ a plan?”

“Well,” Julia began, and her eyes met Eliot’s over Quentin’s shoulder. Julia wasn’t  _ pissed,  _ no, but there was a definitely “a talk will be had” vibe there. “I need to scan Eliot, and it might be… invasive.”

“Not original words for this bedroom, Wicker,” Eliot quipped, smirking when Quentin elbowed him in the ribs. “Can I ask why?”

“Well, we could go back and forth with you trying to explain your internal governing circumstances, and possibly being wrong because ‘know thyself’ is mostly bullshit, or I can just cast a spell to see for myself and we can move on from there.”

Eliot knew internal circumstances didn’t necessarily tell a story of any kind, but it just smacked of convenience that Julia needed this information right when she was also worried about his intentions with her dearest friend. If it wasn’t actually a brilliant idea, he might have told her to fuck off.

“Fine,” he said lightly, his gaze steady. “But don’t get too curious.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she threw back with a little crooked smile. 

*

_ Julia _

Julia refused to show her surprise at Eliot’s instant agreement to let her perform the spell. It really was the fastest, surest way to make sure what they were planning would be done correctly, to have their spell written  _ for  _ Eliot instead of something he had to try to adhere to. With Quentin’s safety at risk, she didn’t want to take any chances. 

But she saw the warning in Eliot’s eyes, too. He’d been stripped a little too bare in the past couple of days, and she’d just asked him to go full frontal. His expression told her she’d better appreciate it. 

_ We can talk about that later,  _ she told herself. The magic required for this spell was tedious and required her full concentration. “Okay, so before I do this, there are options.” Eliot said nothing, only waiting for her to elaborate, his fingers gently curling over Q’s hip, stroking him like a cat over the thick material of his sweatshirt. “I can do the scan and try to remember everything, or I can call it out and someone can write it down.”

“Fantastic,” Eliot snarked then, almost sneering, but he looked to Margo and she nodded, getting up to pull a notebook from the bookshelf and finding a pen on his dresser before returning to the bed. She didn’t look thrilled. 

“Okay. Um. Do you want…?” She glanced towards Quentin, who looked at her in confusion before catching up with the conversation.

“Shit, yeah, I can go, El.”

He started to sit up, but Eliot held him in place gently, murmuring something close to his ear. Quentin looked vaguely upset by whatever it was, but relaxed against him again. 

“Actually, Q, could you come up here? I don’t want to confuse anything I could pick up from you.”

Quentin sighed, sending Julia a wounded look like she’d just asked to kick his puppy before he wrangled himself into her place once she stood from the bed. 

With Q absent, Eliot moved into a sitting position, crossing his ankles and looking at her over his glasses. 

“I have some basic supplies in my dresser,” he told her, “but if it’s anything complicated, I’ll have to send out for it.”

“It doesn’t require any components, except darkness.”

“How am I supposed to write anything down, then?” Margo complained.

“I think it would still work if you use your phone,” Julia told her. “I’ve seen it done in candlelight.” 

“I can’t text that fast, light some damn candles,” she ordered, waving her hand. 

Eliot sighed, looking completely put upon as he lazily waved his hand, igniting a small array of tapers that littered the surface of his dresser. A moment later, the lights flicked off. 

“I’ll give you time to write,” Julia assured Margo. “The complicated part of this spell is the fingerwork.” She readied her hands before her, looking to Eliot. “Ready?”

He didn’t seem to have any clever retorts left in him; Eliot only nodded. 

*

_ Quentin _

Quentin didn’t want to be here. 

He watched Julia begin the tuts required to perform the scanning spell, but was only distantly impressed by the skill it required. 

He felt guilty; he wanted to be close to Eliot, he wanted to earn Eliot’s trust. He didn’t want, would  _ never  _ want any part of Eliot just stripped naked for him to consume like this. 

_ “Please don’t leave?” _

Quentin closed his eyes, wishing Eliot hadn’t asked, wishing  _ he’d  _ asked for a spell to strike him deaf before the lights had gone out. 

Julia’s hands paused in their complicated dance, her thumbs and index fingers forming the shape of an arrow that she slowly pulled through the air, towards herself and away from Eliot’s still form. 

“Charismatic,” she spoke softly in the silent room, her voice quickly followed by the scratch of Margo’s pen and a sarcastic whisper of “no shit.”

Julia’s hands twisted again, pulling, like Eliot’s circumstances were physical things that had to be dragged from him.

“Gregarious.”

Pulling.

“Sympathetic…”

“Reliable…”

“Creative…”

Quentin shifted a little, thinking maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible after all, but then Julia did another complex series of tuts before the arrow framed by her fingers returned, and he held his breath when she spoke again. 

“Mercurial…”

“Spiteful…”

“Diffident…”

“Manipulative…”

“Reverent…”

“Abused…”

Eliot flinched slightly at that, as if he’d been slapped, and Quentin looked to the bed, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. 

“Fearful…”

“Adaptive…”

“Guarded…”

“Insecure…”

“Devoted…”

“Accommodating…”

“Wanton…”

Julia expelled a heavy breath and he looked up as she dropped her hands. “That was everything that came through strongly. It should be enough to give us something to go on.”

Eliot’s head was bowed, but he nodded as he removed himself from the bed without a word and disappeared into the bathroom. 

“Fuck,” Margo sighed.

Quentin looked to her, desperate for direction. “Should I?” he asked, looking towards the closed door. 

“No, honey, give him a minute. And when he comes out, let him act however he’s gonna act. He may need it for a minute, and there’s a chance he’ll be a dick about it.” Her tone was reluctant, but she rubbed her hand up and down his arm in a comforting motion that surprised him a little. 

Julia flipped the lights back on and extinguished the candles before taking a seat on the end of the bed, not looking at either of them.

“Jules.” Her eyes were full of badly concealed shame as they hesitantly passed over his. “No one’s mad at you, just that it had to happen.”

She nodded quickly, like she already knew that, thank you, and didn’t need his support. A lifetime of knowing her let Quentin know to back off. 

“If you can work something up with this, we’ll throw you a fucking party,” Margo added, tossing the notebook her way. “Sometimes shit’s just fucked up, is all.”

Julia pulled the notebook towards her, along with one of the books in the pile, opening it and beginning to look back and forth between the two, jotting notes in the margins of the circumstances Margo had copied. “I guess the next step would be the best components to use.” She looked to Margo. “Do you know his astrological sign?”

Margo looked offended that Julia would doubt that. “Scorpio sun, Libra moon, Leo rising,” she recited, before looking at Quentin. “I’m gonna need your natal chart, by the way.”

“Cancer sun, Aries moon, Pisces rising,” Julia said, and smirked when Quentin looked at her in confusion. “What? I saw your birth certificate when we did blood typing for class, and lots of girls go through an astrology phase.”

“That’s creepy,” Quentin informed her in a pleasant tone.

She laughed softly before returning her attention to her work. Quentin squashed down the impulse to go check on Eliot and grabbed a book from the pile to focus on instead. His eyes did dart to the bathroom door when it clicked open after several minutes, but he only allowed himself a glance before forcing his attention back down. 

He felt Eliot settle at the opposite corner of the bed, saw his knee and his hand but nothing else. “What should I be looking for?” he asked, his tone a blank slate that left Quentin nothing to read.

“Um, I’m still looking for the best way to tie this together. But maybe the candles should correspond with reverence?” 

“Purple,” Margo said, not looking up from her book.

“Okay. A-And maybe commitment could be used for the sigil to substitute the, uh, binding aspect of the original spell?”

“You’d need  _ Alton’s Occult Delineations,”  _ Eliot replied. 

“Honestly, I’d go with spite for the sigil,” Margo spoke up. “It’d be easier in the moment, wouldn’t it?”

Quentin did look up then, to see Eliot considering it and nodding. “Same book. But the paint color gets pretty ambiguous that way.”

“Basic black’s always in season.”

The discussion continued around him, with Quentin quickly coming to terms with the fact that Eliot and Margo  _ knew  _ this stuff, often leaving Julia scrambling to jot notes down as they threw their ideas back and forth just like when they were hashing out the highs and lows of  _ Drag Race.  _ He’d known they were intelligent, of course, but even Julia looked quietly impressed as she raced to capture their ideas with her pen. 

The alarms rang through the room on three of their four cell phones, and Quentin left the bed for Eliot’s bathroom after finding his pills, washing them down with water from the sink. 

“I think I have enough to actually get most of the spell worked out,” Julia was saying when he returned to the room. He saw Eliot looking at him finally, and smiled when he held out his hand. Quentin gratefully joined him at the end of the bed, leaning against him. “I may be able to bring a rough draft by tomorrow and we can start gathering the supplies for it.”

“Thank fuck,” Margo groaned, uncurling herself to leave the bed. “I’m gonna go get laid and take a coma.” And just like that, she was gone.

Julia smiled as she gathered her things into her bag before also stepping onto the floor. “‘Night,” she said simply, slipping out of the room behind Margo. 

Eliot didn’t move for a long moment, his head resting against the top of Quentin’s. 

“It was… a long day,” Quentin finally spoke, unable to stop himself.

“Mm,” Eliot agreed, his face moving against Quentin’s hair. “I’m gonna move, Q. Promise. I’m just exhausted.”

Quentin uncurled himself from Eliot’s side, sliding off the bed. Eliot looked over his shoulder at him curiously. “Turn around?”

Looking curious, Eliot obeyed, his long legs hanging from the side of the bed. Quentin stepped between his knees, his fingers coming up to start unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you doing?” Eliot asked once he reached the third button. 

Quentin smiled, feeling shy. “Putting my boyfriend to bed.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow arched curiously, a teasing light in his amber eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that with those glasses on.”

_ “Oh?” _

“God, you’re an asshole,” he laughed quietly, pulling the shirt open and shrugging it off of Eliot’s shoulders and down to the mattress. Eliot lifted his hands from the sleeves, allowing Quentin to toss the shirt aside. 

“I’ll have you know, that shirt is worth more than your wardrobe, Coldwater.”

“Bite me.” 

Eliot’s eyes danced. “Where?” The question was immediately followed by a flash of shame in his eyes that hurt Quentin’s heart. “Fuck. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking, you’ve definitely had enough of that, huh?”

Quentin pressed himself closer, bringing his hand up to trace the freckles on Eliot’s shoulder. Felt him  _ tremble  _ from the touch. He felt powerful suddenly, and furiously protective. “Not from you, no.”

“Q…”

Swallowing back his fear, Quentin met Eliot’s eyes, seeing a strange mix of lust and hesitance. “El, anything you’d… want to do. I know it wouldn’t be that way. Okay?”

Eliot’s answering nod was barely perceptible, but Quentin knew both of them were too tired to delve deeper at the moment. Quentin knew he could show him better with actions than words anyway, and those actions needed to wait. 

It was hard to focus on the waiting part as Quentin’s eyes roamed down Eliot’s chest, his hand slipping from Eliot’s shoulder to follow the line of his eye before resting on the buckle of his belt. 

“Quentin,” Eliot whispered, equal parts warning and pleading.

“I know. All in good time and all that. But you’re not going to sleep in your pants, are you?” 

“You’re killing me, I hope you know that,” he replied, his sulky expression made so much more alluring with the glasses he was wearing. 

Quentin unfasted the belt with a smirk, pulling it away from Eliot’s waist and dropping it to the floor with ceremony. “How much did that cost?”

“I didn’t say shit about cost, only  _ worth,”  _ Eliot corrected him with an impish smile, cut short by a gasp as Quentin reached for the button of his pants, but he made no move to stop him, his eyes roaming over Quentin’s face as he dragged the zipper down. 

Quentin moved his hands to Eliot’s hips and Eliot lifted himself from the mattress enough for him to slide the pants down, laughing at his frustrated little grumble when they caught against the edge of the bed. Eliot moved to assist, and eventually kicked them off his legs. Quentin knelt to pull his socks off, adding them to the pile of discarded clothes before he stood again to carefully lift the glasses from Eliot’s face, folding them neatly and placing them on the nightstand. 

He tried to ignore the heat of Eliot’s gaze as he began to undress himself, trying to be quick about it because he knew being sexy was hopeless. “You know, you could have left my glasses on for this,” Eliot pointed out as he tried to escape his sweatshirt.

“That would have gone entirely against my point,” Quentin huffed as he struggled out of the shirt, getting it stuck around his head.

“Oh my God, you’re like a dog stuck under a blanket,” Eliot chuckled and he felt the other man pulling at the shirt to remove it. Quentin glared at him as he shrugged off his t-shirt. 

“Just lay down while I get my pants off,” he grumbled, reaching for the button.

“Romantic,” Eliot quipped with a teasing lift of his brow, but he did move over to the other side of the bed, propped up on his side as Quentin awkwardly managed to remove the rest of his clothes.

Remembering to hit the lights first, Quentin finally crawled into the bed, smiling as Eliot eagerly pulled him close, already kissing him before he settled in. Sleepy, lazy kisses, and Quentin felt awed by the fact that he now had the opportunity to catalogue the many types of kisses Eliot might give him. 

“You don’t have to go to bed with me,” Eliot told him. “It’s early still.”

“I’m good,” Quentin replied quietly, his lips seeking another kiss.

He felt the warm weight of the comforter settle onto his shoulder, moved by Eliot’s magic, and eventually fell asleep with Eliot’s lips still grazing his own. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Where Demons Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "The Devil's Playground" by The Rigs.

_ Julia _

Julia felt slightly awkward to be pulled out of class by Professor March the next morning, but she tried to ignore the curious stares she received as she slipped out of the classroom after the man, and followed him down the hall to an empty lab with a “reserved” sign taped to the door. She hoped there was coffee available for whatever planning session she was walking into; she’d barely slept the night before, trying to find answers for any possible questions she’d be asked today, as well as trying to finalize as much as she could of the anchoring spell. 

Stepping inside, she was surprised to see Penny seated at one of the tables, which had been arranged in a messy semi-circle around the room. Seeing the Starbucks cup placed on the surface next to him made her forget all about it, though, and she gratefully took the seat beside him, holding the warm cup in her hands. “Did you Travel to Starbucks?” she laughed.

“Well they don’t deliver to campus, do they?” he replied gruffly, but the corner of his lips tipped up in a smile. 

It was kind of sexy, though she was loath to admit it.

Fogg left his seat near Sunderland as everyone gathered in the lab settled into quiet. Julia noted the stacks of books all over the desks, the parchments and papers scattered everywhere. She felt herself wishing Q could see it, that people cared this much. 

“Good morning,” Fogg told them. “I’ve asked you all here to confer on any information you’ve gathered and to also inform you that as of an hour ago, Brakebills has been given permission to assist in apprehending Mark Davidson.” Julia sighed softly in relief. “The magicians with the state police are involved with the case, and we have been asked to hand him over if we manage to find him. 

“The bad news,” he continued, “is that someone with the skill of Mr. Davidson is likely warded up the ass. This isn’t going to be easy.”

Julia raised her hand, dropping it when Fogg gave her an amused look for it. “Um, I may know a place to start? I’m still in contact with the hedges from the safehouse where it happened. They may know something.” 

“There’s also the possibility of tracing this spell in others,” Sunderland spoke up. “Van der Wedghe and I spoke last night, and this may be bigger than we’re thinking. Why would a spell so complex be placed on just one person?”

March nodded in agreement. “If we can find other victims, they may have information on him.”

“But wouldn’t the tracing only work if the spell was active?” Lipson asked. “And why would someone affected not report it?”

“We can only answer that after we find someone,” Sunderland sighed. “Did Mayakovsky agree to show?”

Fogg pulled a face that almost made Julia laugh. “Of course he did. He’s going to throw this in my face until the day I retire.” Fogg turned towards the front of the classroom and began casting elegantly until a shimmering doorway appeared, soon revealing the interior of Mayakovsky’s office. 

Mayakovsky stepped through a moment later, wearing a shapeless sweater and faded sweatpants, along with a ridiculously thick pair of red socks. A bottle of vodka was clutched in his hand. 

“Show me spell,” he said without preamble, looking around until Sunderland waved him over. She placed several different pieces of parchments side by side. Julia watched him tap his finger over one, then look to another, his eyes rapidly scanning the writing. “I will rewrite this correctly, this is in pieces.”

“You can do that?” March asked.

“Of course I can. This spell…” his index finger traced across the pages. “It took great skill to write, but would not use much energy to cast for a Master. All the work of it would be done before.”

“So, he had this spell prepared before he met Q?” Julia asked. 

Mayakovsky nodded, picking up one of the papers and looking at it more closely. “Bayati wrote this.”

Julia watched as the professors exchanged looks around her. “Um, sorry, who is that?”

Lipson, seated to Julia’s left, looked at her grimly. “Bayati was a Knowledge professor here. She was let go, what, five years ago?” she asked, glancing around the room. March nodded in agreement. “She was constantly pushing the limits on unauthorized spells, teaching first years things that were dangerous. Last I heard, she was working for a privatized military firm.”

Mayakovsky nodded. “She’s their head magician now.” He set the parchment aside and focused his watery gaze on Julia. “You’re in charge of anchor spell, yes?”

“Uh, yes.” Julia rushed to remove the notes she’d neatly placed in a folder as the professor approached, handing them over when he reached her.

Mayakovsky shuffled through the pages, his brow furrowing as he quickly scanned one of the pages. “These are not repressed blonde girl’s circumstances,” he said, meeting Julia’s eyes over the page. 

Julia opened her mouth to tell Mayakovsky where he could get off, but Penny spoke before she could say anything. “Yeah, your little matchmaking attempt was a bust, you pervert,” he said, leaning back into his chair. 

Mayakovsky’s face screwed up in something akin to disgust. “Matchmaking, no. They get distracted, they go fuck, they come back and focus on magic. Less work for me.”

“Christ,” Penny sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Who is the caster for this?” Mayakovsky asked. 

“Eliot Waugh,” Julia said firmly, her gaze direct. 

A spark of recognition flared in the older man’s eye. “Interesting. You come with me, Miss Wicker. I turn this B plus work into A.”

Julia looked to Fogg, who only nodded tiredly. She hurried to follow Mayakovsky out of the room.

*

_ Quentin _

Leaving the communal bathroom half of the second floor shared, Quentin hurried to his bedroom wearing Eliot’s robe, planning to dress and join his boyfriend for a late breakfast downstairs.

Except he found his boyfriend shuffling through his closet instead. Shutting the door behind him, Quentin sighed. “Why are you going through my clothes?”

“No reason,” Eliot replied far too innocently, running his hand down the sleeve of one of Quentin’s only dress shirts with a discerning tilt of his head.

“You are not dressing me, so throw that idea out right now,” he said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 

Eliot turned, actually  _ pouting  _ at him. “Quentin…”

“A-Are you  _ whining?”  _ Eliot pursed his lips, almost glaring. Definitely pouting. It was difficult not to laugh at him. “Oh my God, why does it matter?”

“It’s something I like to do. And it’s not like you care what you wear, anyway.”

“I’d care if you put me in some see-through shirt and leather pants, yeah.”

Eliot grinned, his eyes dancing as he settled on the bed next to him, stroking his fingers over his bare knee. “While that vision thrills me, I don’t want to change you. That’s not the point.”

“Can you tell me the point, then? Because I don’t get it.”

“Hardly anything you wear fits, it’s not made for you. That’s all I want to see. I still want you to be comfortable. But I would also enjoy making everyone else in the room jealous that you’re with me.”

Quentin smiled. That didn’t sound… so bad. Still. “I don’t think it’s ever going to be you they’re jealous of, El.”

Eliot’s eyes narrowed at that but his expression was still soft. “Q, I know you are completely oblivious to your own allure, but do not insult my taste in men, hm?” And he lightly nipped at Quentin’s lip before standing up. “I’ll fix breakfast, you get dressed. And keep the robe,” he added with an appreciative glance before leaving Quentin alone in his room. 

Quentin shook his head to clear his thoughts, feeling like Eliot had spun him in circles before waltzing away. He went to his closet, seeing that some things had been moved around, but found a pair of jeans and sweater that would do for the day before making his way down to the kitchen. Eliot was already busy in the kitchen, gently ordering Todd around, so Quentin thought he might have a few minutes to smoke. 

His hand stilled on the doorknob, however, as he remembered the spell. He could most likely warn Eliot if anything happened. They had the telepathy spell. But what if the anchor wouldn’t allow him to call for help?

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging his hand down his face before heading back into the kitchen, wrangling a cigarette from his pocket on the way. Eliot glanced at him and Quentin held up the cigarette and pointed to the back door. 

“Todd, don’t rat Q out,” Eliot said as he flipped a pancake on the stove. 

Todd looked excited to be included in a secret as Quentin snapped the cigarette to light, opening the door to exhale the smoke. “Oh, Tanisea’s in class until five, I think?” Quentin smiled as Eliot rolled his eyes. While Eliot and Margo were definitely the kings of any Physical Kids parties, the third years made most of the house rules in the cottage. Tanisea Brown was a third year who claimed she was allergic to cigarette smoke and forbade all smoking outside of party hours, when special filtering spells were applied. No one adhered to them upstairs, but they at least pretended to in the common areas. And no one had ever heard the woman so much as cough, even though her room was also upstairs. 

“So, how’d you two luck out, getting excused from classes this long?” 

Quentin looked over his shoulder at Todd, trying to think of something creative as Eliot turned from the stove to start dividing out pancakes, giving him an “I’ve got this” glance.

“Special project,” he said. “Don’t  _ you _ have class, by the way?”

“Not for a few more minutes, and it’s more of a study period--”

“That sounds nice,” Eliot interrupted. “But Q and I should really get to work.”

Todd looked crestfallen. “Can I at least have pancakes?”

Eliot shoved a plate towards him. “Somewhere else, yes.”

That seemed to placate Todd, who only remained long enough to drown his breakfast in syrup before leaving them alone. Quentin smiled at Eliot’s overly dramatic sigh of relief as he started on his own food. Quentin soon joined him on the other side of the island, and they ate in comfortable silence for most of their meal before Eliot perked up.

“So, I looked over the work Julia gave us, and you’re not going to be happy,” he said, fork in one hand while he texted with the other. 

“What is it?”

“I have to make a levitation potion, which Margo can help me with later, no issue.” He looked away from his phone.  _ “You  _ have to disguise a book as a potted plant.”

“Fuck, I hate Illusion magic,” Quentin groaned. 

“Said the man who does card tricks all day.”

“I’m translocating, no illusion involved.”

Eliot nodded, accepting that. “You also kind of have to do it under five different sets of circumstances,” he added before taking a bite and smiling at something he glimpsed on the screen of his phone.

“What are you looking at?”

Eliot looked at him with a vague tinge of guilt in his eyes. “Oh, um, just talking to Margo.”

“What, is she sending you nudes or something?”

Eliot scoffed. “Bambi does not need me to judge the quality of her nudes.” Quentin pointed his gaze and Eliot sighed. “Fine, she’s sending me wardrobe ideas.”

“Wh… “ Quentin could only sigh, pushing his hair out of his face. “Okay.” He returned his focus to the last of his pancakes. 

He was already beginning to stress over his homework as he soaked up a bit of syrup for his last bite when Eliot surprised him. “Are you mad?”

Quentin looked up from his plate in confusion, to see Eliot looking adorably worried. “No, El. I’m not, I promise. It’s just confusing to me, is all. I don’t care what anyone else wears, so…” He shrugged. 

Eliot huffed, but looked amused. “You’re saying I put in all this effort, and you don’t even care?”

He laughed. “I mean, yes, when you put it like that. You look great all the time, but if you didn’t, I would still think you’re hot. You just are, that’s just you.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, leaving his seat at the island to rinse his plate. “I’m not having this argument,” he announced. “If you don’t want Margo dressing you, you are more than free to tell her. I just thought it would make her feel more included, or something.”

That gave Quentin pause. “Included?”

Eliot looked at him regretfully. “Not really your problem. Sorry.”

“No, I mean. Is there a problem?”

Eliot sighed, taking Quentin’s plate and putting it in the sink before he answered. “No. Not yet, anyway. She seems fine.”

“El, you’re worried about something. Would you talk to me about it?”

Eliot leaned forward onto the island, his height making it possible for him to reach Quentin’s hands on the other side, which he took into his own. “I’m worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet, Q. Things that probably  _ won’t _ happen. You’ve got enough on your plate with actual problems.”

“So do you,” Quentin reminded him. “And you’re worried about Margo, who is incredibly important to you, so  _ talk  _ to me.”

Eliot wet his lips. “I guess I’ve just been thinking of everything that’s going to change?” he hedged. 

“Wait, between you and Margo? Like, because of  _ me?”  _ Eliot nodded, looking uncertain of himself. “El, I don’t want that. I’m not saying I’ve ever understood the, um,  _ details  _ of your relationship, b-but I’m not threatened by it. Nothing has to change.”

Eliot smiled. “It does, though. I want it to,” he said, and Quentin felt the slide of his palm across the top of his hand. “I’m just trying to… think of ways to compensate, I guess? That sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

Quentin laughed. “Maybe I can help?” Eliot arched a brow, obviously doubtful, and Quentin pinched his palm for it. “Seriously. Tell me what you’re worried about.”

“Fine. So, on Sundays, we usually hole up in her room and watch things we wouldn’t be caught dead acting interested in. Well, Margo watches, to get her nerd fix. I usually paint her nails and make off-color commentary.”

“Okay, so nothing needs to change there,” Quentin laughed. “I’m actually something of an expert on being left alone for long periods of time. I think a movie day is fine.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, smirking. “Okay. Um. And it just so happens, Margo and I do exchange naughty pictures. Frequently. It’s been a game of ours for over a year now.”

“A game?” Quentin asked. 

Eliot nodded. “It started after the Trials. You know what happened there. We each appreciated the other’s assets, and I may have said she should live in the nude. So, a few days later, she sent me a picture, very tasteful. Except she was sitting on Professor March’s desk.”

Quentin gaped. “What the fuck? She was  _ naked?” _

Eliot chuckled. “She still won’t tell me how she got away with it, but the point from then has been managing nudes where one shouldn’t.”

Quentin shook his head, grinning. “You two are insane.” A thought suddenly struck him. “Um, do you still have any of those pictures?” He could already feel himself blushing, fuck.

Eliot squinted. “Of Margo?”

“No, stupid. Of you.”

He smiled flirtatiously, and Quentin drew in a deep breath, feeling like his heart had actually stuttered, which was ridiculous. “I may have kept some of the better ones.”

“Okay. Well… I don’t really have an issue with your perverted phone game, either. It’s not like you haven’t seen each other naked, and… it kind of sounds fun?”

Eliot’s gaze turned devious. “Does it, now?”

“Don’t get any ideas. So, next thing?”

“Well, sex, I guess. Obviously. No need to discuss that.”

“Did you and Margo… a lot?”

Eliot looked momentarily confused before perking up. “Alone? Rarely. Three, maybe four times.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember the first. That was Bambi’s ‘test drive,’ as she called it. There were definitely two other times. And the last time, a heavy amount of drugs were involved, so we may have just been in the same room…”

Quentin snorted. “Jesus. Okay. So, not alone?”

His brow lifted as he sighed. “Frequently.”

“And you think she’ll miss that?”

Eliot nodded, his eyes distant. “We just… sometimes we had a connection, when it came to sharing boys. She’ll find some other fulfilment, though. I have every faith.”

“Connection? I don’t think I’m following. Like, it meant something to you?”

Eliot looked hesitant. “It’s hard to explain. Have you ever had a threesome?”

Quentin gave him a dry look. “What do you think?”

“Honestly? I think you need a serious dose of self-confidence and it’s going to be a long-term project of mine. But that’s besides the point. I don’t care at all to tell you about me and Bambi that way, but are you sure you want to know?”

“If you really don’t mind, yeah. I want to know what you’re giving up for me.”

He seemed to consider arguing that statement for a moment, but nodded. “Let’s go smoke, then. I haven’t had one yet.”

Eliot led him outside, but when he tried to move to the chair across the table, Eliot pulled at his wrist, and Quentin allowed himself to be pulled into his boyfriend’s lap. “You know, I’m not huge into reminders of how tall you are compared to me.”

“But I like it. Humor me?” Eliot purred against his neck. Quentin rolled his eyes but leaned closer to Eliot, resting their heads together. Eliot lit a cigarette and passed it to him before getting another for himself. 

“Okay, humoring you. But why?”

“Because I want you close for this. Are you comfortable enough?”

“I’m good.”

“Okay.” Eliot took a long drag from his cigarette. “This is probably going to make very little sense, because I suck at explaining things, but… I love Margo. Deeply. She’s kind of the epitome of who I wished I could have been growing up instead of who I was. She still kind of is,” he chuckled. “And I don’t know… if I was straight, maybe she’d be it for me? I can’t answer that, because I’m not. And then I met you, and everything got more complicated. 

“I guess… sometimes threesomes were a way for us to fuck in a way we could both get what we needed from each other. Because yeah, I’ve fucked Margo but that was for her. I just don’t enjoy it the way she does. Sometimes… she’d tell a guy how to fuck me and just, like, pet my hair. And it was almost like she was fucking me, but in a way I can’t feel it with her? It’s been different every time, but sometimes... it’s like we were just fucking through another person, I guess.”

Quentin’s face felt hot. “Um, like a translator?” God, that sounded stupid out loud.

“Mm. Maybe. I mean, we always enjoyed whoever else was there, too. But sometimes they were just… there.” Eliot shifted a little. “Your neck is seriously red.”

“Um. Is it?”

Eliot laughed softly against the heated skin. “Yes, it is. Too much?”

“N-No, just… I’d have to think about that.”

“Think about what?”

Quentin swallowed. “Um…”

“Look at me?”

He sat up enough to look into Eliot’s eyes, let him study his expression. “I don’t want you to think about that,” Eliot told him, carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of Quentin’s neck. “I mean, if you want to jerk off to the thought of it, by all means. But…” Eliot chewed his lip before forcing his eyes to remain steady, and Quentin knew he wanted to look away, to hide. “I’m not really ready to share you, even if you look incredibly turned on right now and it makes me insanely curious in all the  _ worst  _ ways. Is that… okay?”

“El, of  _ course  _ it’s okay. I-I just want you to be happy, and sorry, but the thought of you and Margo naked is going to turn anyone on a little, okay?”

Eliot smirked at that. “Okay.” He tilted his head up and Quentin quickly leaned forward to kiss him. Once, twice, and another, the last with just as little heat to it before Eliot drew back, his eyes fixated on Quentin’s mouth. “So, um, homework?”

  
  
  
  
  



	16. Is It Rapture?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song "God Be You" by Nostalghia.

_ Julia _

Julia entered the cottage that night with a heavy tote of spell components digging into her shoulder. There appeared to be an impromptu weeknight party happening, but it definitely wasn’t an Eliot event, as there were pizzas littered across the coffee tables and plastic cups in the hands of the people she passed, and there were also far too few people milling around. 

She found the people she was looking for in the kitchen, and her brow quirked as she approached, watching all of them dubiously eyeing a vial of green liquid that rested on the countertop. It honestly looked like a cover for an 80s straight-to-VHS fantasy comedy. Eliot’s lips were thinned as he studied the bottle with intense eyes, Margo looked doubtful, her arms crossed over her chest, and Q looked interested as always but also mildly reluctant. 

“Yeah, no,” Quentin seemed to decide, taking a step away from the kitchen island. 

Margo elbowed him. “Come  _ on,  _ Coldwater, someone has to test it.”

“It’s not  _ my  _ homework,” Q said pointedly. 

“Fair point,” Eliot spoke, “but being as I levitate if I don’t remind myself  _ not to,  _ I don’t think I’m the appropriate test subject for this.”

Seeing this as the perfect way to bypass any potential awkwardness with Eliot, Julia laughed, entering the kitchen and depositing her heavy bag on the counter. “Levitation potion?”

“Mm-hm,” Eliot hummed with a small nod, his eyes only glancing off hers.

Giving them a look to let them know they were all cowards, Julia grabbed the vial and tipped it down her throat before setting the empty glass on the counter.

Right before she felt her legs lift out from under her and her head, shoulders, and ass hit the ceiling. She vaguely heard her supposed best friend bark out a quiet laugh. “Ow! What the hell?”

Below, she saw Eliot giving her a discerning look. “I may have fucked up the controls,” he admitted in his casual, laissez-faire way that was currently making her wish she could swim through the air and pull one of his perfectly swept curls out by the root.

“You  _ may  _ have? How long am I stuck here?” 

Eliot sighed, walking around the counter to lift his hands up towards her. Julia reluctantly reached for him and he pulled her down towards the ground. She found her legs still wanted to tilt upwards, so she crossed them at the ankles and pulled her knees to her chest with her free hand. “So, are you just going to lead me around like a floating puppy until however long this takes to wear off?” she asked.

A flash of uncertainty passed through his eyes. “It’ll last about an hour. And I could, but you don’t really seem like the type to appreciate being led anywhere. The other option is that I counteract it until it wears off.” He said the last part flippantly, but a little too quickly for Julia not to pick up on. “It wouldn’t be perfect, but no more reverse gravity at least.”

“Well, that would be preferable, but I came here about the anchor spell, and you may need your energy.”

“Shit, it’s ready?” Margo asked.

Julia nodded, which felt strange when combined with how she was gently bobbing in the air. “Mayakovsky helped me finalize it, actually. It doesn’t have to be done tonight, but--”

“It’ll be done tonight,” Eliot cut her off, but not unkindly. “And I’m really not trying to go for arrogance here, but keeping you off the ceiling isn’t really going to tap my reserves.”

Julia rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Fine. Your room, then?”

Eliot looked behind him at the slightly trashed kitchen, the aftereffects of the failed potion. “Um.”

Margo all but growled. “We’ve got it. Just keep Wicker from getting a concussion.”

Julia saw the impish smile that ghosted over Eliot’s face as he led her through the kitchen doorway and down the hall that led to the stairs, leaving Quentin and Margo behind to deal with the mess. She was feeling a little nauseous by the time Eliot pulled her into his room, gesturing. “Where would you like?”

“Actually, I don’t mind this so much,” she said with a lift of her eyebrows, pointedly looking down her nose at him. “It’s kind of nice being the tallest in the room for once.”

Eliot’s amusement was badly hidden. “Fine, you can reign over us for the next hour, but over the bed. I might not have time to react when it wears off.”

Eliot pushed at her knee until she was floating at the end of his bed before he released her hand. Julia felt herself rising for a split second before a gentle force settled over her, and she slowly smiled. 

“That okay or too much?” Eliot asked, and… 

_ Oh, he’s nervous. _

“Um, it’s good. I’ve had heavier gravity blankets,” she assured him. 

He chuckled, kicking off his shoes and flopping onto his bed to look up at her. “Well, I’ve certainly seen weirder things in my room, but you’d make top twenty.” He retrieved a cigarette from his nightstand and sparked it to life. 

Julia gasped dramatically and fluttered her hand over her heart. “An honor.”

He let out a laugh that was more of a hum as he exhaled smoke, his hazel eyes turning more serious. “Question?”

“Do you have one or are you asking me if I do?”

“First one.”

Julia shrugged, which felt a little strange against the pressure of Eliot’s telekinesis. “Shoot.”

“Last night… why’d you leave it out?”

Julia blinked. She thought of trying to backpedal, but he’d honestly put her on the spot. She’d assumed the whole thing would be something Eliot would never bring up. And maybe he wouldn’t have, if they hadn’t gotten this moment alone. 

Eliot was smirking. “Please don’t try to say you weren’t thorough enough, or didn’t perform it correctly. Alice Quinn hates you for a reason. And yeah, you surprised me with some of it, and not in the fun way, but you don’t do magic for as long as I have without getting to know yourself a little.”

“Is that why you hate it so much? Magic?”

Eliot shook his head once, a quick deflection. “I don’t, necessarily. I just can’t look at it with the doe-eyed wonder Q can. It’s something I can’t even begin to understand about him.”

“I… didn’t think it would be needed, and I was right. If it had been, I would have used it. I don’t really see how it’s that much worse than some of the other things I did say, though.” She hadn’t meant to say that, but there it was. Her own guilt laid out for him.

“Because it’s the truest,” he replied tonelessly, his eyes focused somewhere between them and far away. “I’m actually pretty sure I killed someone with it, once upon a time. I know the brute force of something doesn’t always make it better, but I wanted to make sure. The spell is important.”

And it hung between them, Eliot’s unspoken internal circumstance, the one that had hit her first with the force of a brick wall (or a school bus), the one thing that had truly shocked Julia because he lived his life like he couldn't care less, shrugging off the negative and taking the positive like he expected it, like of course it had been handed to him.

_ Desperate. _

“You know…” he trailed off in a musing voice, far more casual and he moved his cigarette in a lazy circle. “I don’t know if it was the spell or not, but your magic… it’s different. It may just be how technical you are, I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes met hers, curious. “Do you get sensations from other people’s magic?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Actually, no. But most people do. I’d call the rest unimaginative, but there’s probably an actual reason they don’t.”

“So you’re saying I made you feel weird?” she laughed.

Eliot rolled his eyes, but there was something haunted in them all the same. “I’ve just never felt that before. It was like… incense. Blood. Lilies. Metal. I don’t know. Just strange.”

The simple confession jarred Julia. “Q just says it’s like old books,” she chuckled nervously.

“Q may have a book fetish.”

“I think we’re past  _ may  _ on that one. Well,  _ you  _ made me think of sunshine,” she teased him.

Eliot grinned up at her, folding his hand to his chest. “Why Miss Wicker, you’re my sunshine too.”

They were laughing when Margo barrelled her way into the room growling that Todd was never around when he was needed, followed by Quentin, who was hefting her heavy tote. He smiled when he saw Julia floating two feet off the bed, his love for magic so clear in his eyes. Julia was glad to see it. Magic had done this to him, in no small part. She didn’t want one horrible act to change her friend, not permanently. She knew it was a naive thought, but she held onto it with clenched fingers around her heart.

Quentin set the tote on the floor and crawled onto the bed next to Eliot, leaning onto his shoulder. She watched their fingers intertwine immediately, watched Eliot position himself so every available inch of him touched Q, who always wanted so badly to be touched. 

_ Sunshine and rain,  _ she thought, feeling a little melodramatic for it, but it didn’t stop the tilt of her lips, the little stutter of hope in her heart.

*

_ Eliot _

It was only a little difficult to focus on the spellwork handed to him and keep Julia from flying into his light fixture. Not because it was actually difficult in any way, really, but only because of his steadily building nerves as he read it over. 

Fuck. He’d have to run this by Quentin. 

The spell was well written, perfectly tailored to him. Q only had to withstand a bit of paint, a tiny cut. 

But Mayakovsky hadn’t omitted the sex magic, because of course he hadn’t. And although the fact was the spell might have not worked without it was present in his thoughts, he also felt a burning hatred for the man all over again, the man who had nicknamed him “angry gay boy,” with an emphasis on ‘gay’ that Eliot could hear meant something far cruder. Like Eliot was too ignorant to hear it anyway, or hadn’t heard it a thousand times before. 

Julia fell to the mattress with a startled ‘eep!’ and Eliot winced. “Sorry.”

She giggled. “Nothing broken. I guess we can start setting up the stuff if you’re ready?”

“Can we, um, take a second?” he asked, pointing to Quentin. “Just a few things I want to go over.” He looked to his boyfriend. “Q? Your room?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah.”

Eliot followed Quentin down the hall and into the smaller bedroom with its simple bed and almost complete lack of personal effects. Eliot loved it, down to the Target brand comforter. 

“Sit with me?” he requested, patting the mattress and smiling gently when Quentin joined him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with all this before we do it.”

“Okay? I mean, I don’t really think we have much of a choice.”

“We have a choice.  _ You  _ always have one. I just want to walk you through what’s going to happen, and you tell me if anything needs to be changed.” Quentin nodded. “So, you’ll get in the circle. No shirt, so I can paint the sigil on your back. I’ll light the candles and do the binding part of the spell. The way it’s written, it will be stronger than the one on you already because it was written for us specifically. The one on you now is generic. So, it will definitely work.”

“That’s good,” Quentin breathed with a quick nod. 

“Yeah. It may get a little… intense. There’s chanting and creepy languages involved.” Quentin rolled his eyes, smiling. “The binding is woven in with the locator. Nothing as fancy as the one already on you, but I should be able to know where you are down to, like, a building on campus or something. To lock all that in, I’ll paint the sigil on your back. Remind me to grab something to put your hair up with, the paint is a bitch to wash out.” 

Quentin lifted his wrist, showing the elastic already around it. “Good to go.”

“Good boy.” Quentin immediately blushed and Eliot forced himself to  _ focus.  _ “After the sigil, I’ll have to cut you, just enough to draw blood. And… I have to come, Q.” He watched Quentin’s eyebrows do their processing dance and waited until his expression smoothed out again. “I’m not sure that can be omitted, but I will try to find another way if that’s what you need. I’m just worried because it’s kind of the foundation of the entire spell. You won’t see anything, but I wouldn’t go into this without you knowing.”

“El, it’s fine. I mean, are you okay with it?”

“You’re asking  _ me?”  _ Eliot sighed with exasperation, barely covering something much more adoring as he leaned forward to kiss him. Quentin responded eagerly and with every gentle tug at his lip, Eliot really wanted to forget the fucking spell. 

He did manage to force himself away with one last press of his lips before leaning back. “So, when I… you know, get off, I’ll have to lick the wound to bind our essences or whatever. A little too vampire for me, and not the sexy kind.”

“Please, you’d totally be the sexy kind,” Quentin scoffed. 

Eliot grinned like a cat. “Yeah? Are we thinking Spike or Edward?”

Quentin gave him a level look. “Like you’re not full on Lestat.”

Eliot’s heart swelled with something terrifying and too real. Something he couldn’t acknowledge or signify, and considering the topic of conversation, it made him feel like an idiot. He pushed it down with a smirk. “I think one brat prince in this room is enough, don’t you?”

“Why are you constantly calling me a brat?” Quentin laughed. “There are other words.”

Eliot grinned. “Google will get you there eventually if you’re interested,” he teased. 

“I know the definition,” Quentin groused, on the edge of waspish but still amused.

“Do you, though?”

“God, whatever. But I’m… fine with it. The spell. No worries.”

_ Good, baby. Just leave all those to me,  _ Eliot thought.

*

_ Quentin _

When they returned to Eliot’s room, the circle was laid out at the foot of Eliot’s bed between Margo and Julia’s feet. Five tall, purple tapers were spaced evenly apart. Within them, there was a bowl of black, gritty paint with a brush resting inside, as well as several cones of incense resting on a dinner plate. 

And a knife. It didn’t look ceremonial or magic in any way. Quentin was fairly sure it came from the kitchen. The plate, too.

It all seemed so simple, which meant most of the work was on Eliot’s shoulders. 

Margo and Julia quietly exited the room and Quentin stripped down to his boxers, placing his clothes on the bed and his shoes near the door. He seated himself in the middle of the circle, listening to Eliot undress behind him, trying to focus on the fact this would make everything more bearable. Trying to  _ not  _ focus on the sex magic. 

“Behind you,” Eliot spoke quietly and Quentin relaxed at the presence of him at his back. He watched the three candles he could see catch flame and the room went dark around them. “Hair tie, please.”

Quentin pulled the elastic band from his wrist with a shaking hand and held it over his shoulder, feeling Eliot pluck it from his fingers. His eyes fell shut at the feel of Eliot’s fingers pulling gently through his hair as he gathered it up and secured it away from his neck. He then felt Eliot’s fingers trace the healing wounds across his shoulders and back, lingering over the scab that had put them here. “You ready?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good,” he managed to say, barely more than a whisper. 

He waited in silence, wondering what Eliot was doing behind him, hearing no movement at all. Then, the pungent scent of the incense filled the air. He couldn’t place the scent, he never could, but it was musty and most definitely imbued with magic. He felt his skin erupt in goosebumps as he inhaled, hearing Eliot breathe deeply behind him.

Moments later, Quentin was enveloped in Eliot’s magic, and wondered what the tuts looked like for this spell. He imagined the grace of Eliot’s fingers as they had danced through all the spells he’d seen before, or as he smoked, as he chopped fucking vegetables, no matter what he was doing. He drowned in the sensations of Eliot’s magic that washed over him, the flickering candlelight and the silence making them more intense, more detailed. They invoked memories of leaping into a pile of raked leaves in his backyard with Julia as children. The hayride and corn maze his dad had taken him and Julia to during middle school, trying new activities and experiences to shake Quentin out of his blooming depression. His first time eating gourmet chocolate after starting at Columbia, the taste bitter and sweet on his tongue.

He was pulled from the memories as Eliot started to whisper softly in Hebrew. Quentin looked from the corner of his eye to see the dancing shadows of Eliot’s arms and hands moving behind him, full fluid motions of higher, more complicated magic. He suddenly wondered if Eliot was putting himself at risk for this, because of course he never would have said.

His brow furrowed as Eliot’s voice grew more strained in its repetition, the consonants snapping and sharp, a pelting rhythm he could feel on his skin like phantom raindrops. Quentin was reminded of Margo’s suggestion to infuse the spell with Eliot’s spite. Julia had obviously agreed. 

Eliot’s voice soon turned to little more than a hissing growl and Quentin felt his own breath turn shallow, the air in the room growing thin and imbued with heat, the energy so thick it surprised him it wasn’t visible. He could barely draw breath, but it wasn’t from fear. Strangely, Quentin had never felt more protected or safe than he did now, almost naked in a dark room with Eliot practically spitting venom in an ancient language to his back, the complicated motions the magic required from his hands pushing soft whispers of air against Quentin’s skin. He had to force himself not to lean back, not to seek more. Only the vaguest bit of logic left in him kept him still.

But Eliot’s voice was intensely arousing right now. He swallowed thickly as he imagined that tone being whispered in his ear, into his neck and  _ fuck,  _ he was glad nothing was required of him for this spell, though he wished someone had warned him about how it would  _ feel. _ The heavy presence of Eliot’s magic, the aggressive growl of his voice, combined with whatever the fuck was in the incense had him rock hard and he felt sweat gathering at his temples. 

The rapid repetition halted and Quentin felt something cool glide down his feverish skin seconds later. He bit back a moan.  _ “Sheli,”  _ Eliot whispered, over and over as he painted the sigil, softly but so dangerous at the same time, and Quentin tried not to tremble. Because he sucked at Hebrew just slightly less than he sucked at Aramaic, but he knew that word.

_ Mine. _

He heard a sigh from Eliot minutes later, and the slide of the paintbrush left his skin. Silence filled the space again for long moments and Quentin tried to breathe deeply through the thrumming of his skin. Every nerve ending felt charged with magic, with  _ Eliot.  _ He felt drunk on it, drugged, fucked in a way he’d always chased but had never managed to quite reach. 

Then, he heard Eliot gasp and almost turned to ask him what had happened, if he was alright. But the gasp was followed by a broken hum that shot fire right through him as he realized what was happening now. He wanted to turn, to see, to  _ touch... _

Quentin clenched his jaw, the muscles tightening in his arms as he forced himself not to move, as he listened to Eliot’s breath grow ragged, as the candles flickered around him. 

It was too much suddenly, far too much, he was going to come, or pass out, or  _ die.  _

“Eliot, El,  _ please.” _

His plea was barely more than a whimper, but the room was so silent there was no way Eliot hadn’t heard it. Quentin felt immediate guilt, hoping he hadn’t broken the other man’s concentration, but he needed, he  _ needed. _

He felt Eliot’s fingers slide up his shoulder, grasping, and Quentin sighed, leaning his head back. He let out a choked moan at the feel of Eliot’s lips against his neck, then his teeth skating up to his ear as his hand moved to hold Quentin’s jaw in place. “I’ve got you,” he promised before licking at his earlobe. Quentin sank against Eliot’s chest in surrender. He vaguely wondered if he’d be embarrassed later by the sounds Eliot was eliciting from him with his teeth, lips, and tongue. 

Eliot sucked at his neck, just below his jawline,  _ growling,  _ and Quentin’s hips jerked as he sobbed, trying to turn his face for more contact, for  _ anything,  _ but Eliot’s hand held him firmly in place and that was somehow  _ better.  _

He felt a rush of air against the drying sigil on his back, and Eliot released him. He felt bereft, weak, almost angry. 

Then, he felt the cool press of metal where his neck met his shoulders. “Q, tell me,” Eliot panted.

Quentin took a gulping breath, nodded, tried to center himself. “Do it.”

There was a sharp sting, barely anything, and he gasped as Eliot slammed back into him, licking the sweat from his neck as he grunted. “I’m close,” he whispered. “God you’re so fucking  _ hot,  _ I want you so much, Q, I  _ can’t…” _

And then the most erotic sound Quentin had ever heard graced his ears, making his dick jerk as Eliot  _ whined  _ against his neck before moving to press his tongue to the bleeding wound. He felt a gentle kiss soon after, as the magic ebbed and the candles flickered out, pitching them into darkness. 

*

_ Eliot _

Eliot was utterly exhausted, but he wasn’t sure how to move on from this moment, how to settle the roiling emotions in his gut, fading in their intensity but still very present. He could feel the tracks of the tears on his face, itching as they dried. He’d experimented with sex magic before, but nothing he’d done had approached this. 

He also wasn’t sure what to do about Quentin, who was trembling and sweating against him, so close to the edge it had to be painful. Suggesting he go take care of things in the bathroom or even leaving him alone just seemed cruel. “Q?” he asked, hating how it sounded like he was asking for direction.

“Just… I’m fine.” His voice was hoarse as he panted out the words, the back of his head still resting against the top of Eliot’s. Eliot would stay there all night if needed, but the cramp would be a bitch. “I’m okay. Just need a second.” He seemed to realize how his head was being supported and lifted it away. Eliot watched as he curled in on himself, shivering in the moonlight from the windows.

“I… should get something for your back. Get the paint off?”

Quentin laughed. “El, if you touch me right now, I’m either going to maul you or literally explode. Those are your options.”

Wetting his lips, Eliot weighed several ideas in rapid succession, quickly settling on one. “Well, I’m getting ready to touch you, so maul if you must,” he said, trying for light and not quite making it. He lifted his knees from the floor to settle on his ass, and gently tugged on Quentin’s shoulders until he fell back against his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure if this verged into the territory of things he didn’t think Quentin was ready for, but if the last twenty minutes hadn’t, he figured he was good.

“El, what are you…?”

“I’m just going to talk to you, okay?” he spoke softly against his ear. 

“I want you to  _ touch me,”  _ Quentin hissed. 

“I know, baby, but maybe you can do the work for me?” Quentin went still against him, and Eliot nuzzled the spot behind his ear. “If you want. Or I can leave.”

“N-n-no. Don’t leave. I just don’t know if I can… really do that?”

“I just did.”

“Not a fair comparison.”

“Not a fair anything,” Eliot chuckled. “All this would do is make me hard again.”

“El,  _ Christ,  _ stop talking.”

Eliot knew an opening when he heard one. It was almost his discipline. “You really want me to?” he asked softly, letting his breath ghost over the shell of Q’s ear.

_ “Fuck.” _

“That’s what you want to talk about? I’m game, but you’ll have to be more specific.”

“I hate you,” Quentin whispered raggedly, but Eliot felt him shift, felt his shoulder dip subtly, and he bit his own lip, sliding it across his teeth. He wouldn’t look, but God, did he  _ want  _ to. 

“Tell me the first time you did this and thought of me,” Eliot whispered, and Quentin gasped.

“Th-That is not sexy.”

Eliot nipped at his neck. “Tell me, Quentin.”

“Fuck. O-Okay. Second day. After you and M-Margo came to get me. That night, in the bathroom.”

“Mm, I beat you by a whole day, then. Except I wasn’t alone. I found a boy that let me fuck his mouth just as hard as I wanted. I picked him because his hair was long like yours. Helps me steer.”

“W-What?” God, he sounded broken and Eliot’s devious heart skipped a beat. He snaked his arm around Quentin, his fingers crawling over his forearm, wanting to feel any part of what he wouldn’t allow himself to see. Quentin’s arm didn’t quite tell enough story, however, so he gripped his wrist instead, his eyes rolling at the motion he felt under his fingers as his boyfriend jerked himself off.  _ There.  _ He could feel it now. If he moved another inch, he could even direct. “Eliot, you’re fucking killing me.”

Eliot’s other hand clenched around Quentin’s hip and he scraped his teeth along his neck. “Am I?”

“Fuck,  _ fuck you,  _ you know you are,” he whispered, choking on tears. Eliot could have happily remained here forever, with the boy he wanted above all others openly sobbing for him, but he knew how to end a show on a high note.

“Why don’t you come for me, then?”

Something felt like it snapped inside Eliot as Quentin immediately arched against him, keening beautifully. Eliot’s hands clenched in place as his eyes fell shut, as he pressed his face against the burning skin of Quentin’s neck. “So good, baby, you’re so good,” he praised as he moved to kiss his neck, tiny lingering kisses as Quentin slowly relaxed against him. He brought his hand up and tossed the elastic from Quentin’s hair to brush his fingers through it as his breathing turned from harsh pulls to a steady rise and fall.

“Fuck,” Quentin finally said after several minutes and Eliot grinned.

_ God, and I can’t wait.  _ “Indeed.”

  
  
  
  
  



	17. A Beautiful Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Beautiful Crime" by Tamer.
> 
> I was blown away by the comments last chapter! I wanted to reply to every single one, but I'm an awkward mess. I did want to let you know, though, that I have a Tumblr. I have literally never posted a single thing on it, but I can be found under obsidianschild there, if you want to follow me or ask me any questions.

_ Eliot _

Eliot tried not to show his exhaustion as he cleaned the paint from Quentin’s back and they dressed to go downstairs. He’d done difficult spells before, but none quite so intense or emotionally draining. It still had to be tested, however, no matter how certain he was that it had worked. 

Making his way down the stairs with Quentin close behind (and he could feel that now, Q’s presence, more powerfully than before), he was surprised to find Penny sitting with Julia and Margo. Eliot had always felt mixed feelings for the man. When he’d first glimpsed him on campus, he’d fleetingly checked him out, because there was no denying he was attractive. But he also knew the man was an asshole to Quentin on almost a daily basis, so they’d never exactly had a friendly conversation. He wasn’t sure how he felt about him being here now at all, especially when he heard Quentin curse under his breath from behind him.

Penny stood from the couch between the two women, looking vaguely uncomfortable as his eyes glanced off Quentin, deciding to focus on Eliot instead. “Hey.”

“Hello,” Eliot returned, waiting for the other man to explain his presence. 

“So, uh, Julia and Mayakovsky thought it might be a good idea for me to help test the spell.”

“You?” Eliot turned as Quentin walked around from behind him, his brow furrowed.

“You really wanna take a swing at anyone else in here?” Penny asked pointedly. Quentin said nothing. “Besides, I can Travel with other people now.” He flexed his knuckles in explanation, and Eliot saw the fresh ink displayed across them. “Should help test the range on this thing.”

“It’s not… the worst idea,” Eliot agreed reluctantly. “You seriously got tattooed just to test this?”

“No, I got them because they’re sending me to grab that asshole as soon as they track him down.”

“Oh. That’s… a good plan, actually. But as far as Q, why don’t we test my work here first before you whisk my boyfriend off to Paris or something?”

Penny’s brow twitched with something like disbelief as he looked between Quentin and Eliot, but he nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Good, I’ll make drinks.” Eliot walked past Quentin to find a random first year at his bar. He waved them off with a scolding hand, scowling at the plastic cups that littered the counter. He hadn’t been a frequent presence in the common room for days now, and it was already starting to show. 

Quickly tossing the empty cups and wiping down the surface of the bar, Eliot was relieved to see the good alcohol,  _ his  _ alcohol, had remained mostly untouched. All hope was not lost if the other students still feared the wrath of touching his possessions. 

Knowing he had no fresh herbs or the usual ingredients he kept well-stocked, Eliot frowned, deciding on a bottle of champagne and cognac to pull from his stock. Something simple, then. He also pulled everything he’d need for a virgin mimosa, knowing it would make Quentin scowl adorably.

He focused on mixing and pouring, growing more and more reluctant to test the spell. He didn’t want to ever control Quentin, even with the knowledge he would be doing it to protect him. It made his skin crawl to think about it.

Setting the mimosa near the edge of the bar, Eliot looked up to see his boyfriend seated between Julia and Margo. Bambi looked absolutely predatory, her eyes dancing with wickedness as Quentin blushed, obviously mortified. He didn’t see the hickey until Julia poked it and Quentin turned to glare at her.  _ Oops. _

Seeing he needed to rescue his boyfriend, Eliot sighed, forcing down the shame he felt.

And he thought the thought.

_ Come here, baby. _

Eliot felt pained as Quentin’s eyebrows drew together and he stood from the sofa, not sparing a glance at the others as he walked towards the bar. “Um, hey.”

Eliot attempted a smile, but it fell flat. “How did it feel?”

Quentin shrugged. “I mean, okay? I just felt like I needed to come over here.” He shot Eliot a shy grin. “So, not that different from usual.”

“Flirt,” he said with a grin, gesturing towards the mimosa. “That’s for you, no alcohol.”

Quentin sighed (and scowled) but took the offered drink, swallowing almost half in one go. “You don’t think Penny’s going to drop me in a volcano or something, do you?”

Eliot chuckled. “I mean, he’d have to face all of us if he tried that, so probably no worse than, like, Kansas?”

Quentin drained the rest of his drink and sighed. “Sounds fun.”

Together, they carried the other drinks to the sofas, and Eliot settled himself across from the women, sipping at his concoction. Not his best, but it would do. He was preparing to pull Quentin down next to him, to protect him from all of Margo’s teasing, but Penny drained his drink in seconds before smacking the glass down on the coffee table. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Now?”

Penny looked to Eliot. “You think I don’t have better shit to do with my time?”

“Honestly, not really.” A thought occurred to him. “You  _ have  _ done this before, right?”

“Yeah, like an hour ago with Mayakovsky.”

Oh, Eliot didn’t like this. “So, this is your second attempt?”

“No, he made me go all over the damn place. I’m good.”

Eliot sighed. “If you say so.”

He intended to stand, to squeeze Q’s hand or kiss him on the cheek, but Penny reached Quentin first, and they were gone, leaving Eliot blinking at the empty space his boyfriend no longer occupied. “Okay, he’s kind of dick.”

“Hot, though,” Margo mused. 

“Not hardly enough,” Eliot scoffed, taking another drink.

“Well, some of us haven’t sucked on a neck like it was a Tootsie Pop tonight, so give a girl a break,” she snarked teasingly, tipping back the last of her drink while Julia snickered.

Eliot ignored them with a roll of his eyes. He was sure he’d given Penny and Quentin long enough, anyway, so he called Q back to him silently, setting his drink aside to wait.

It only took a moment before Penny and Quentin reappeared, closer to the front door this time. Penny released Q, who immediately rushed to flop onto the sofa next to Eliot, breathing heavily.

“Q?” Eliot asked in concern, turning towards him to cup his jaw. His brown eyes were wild and anxious.

“So, it's, um… it’s worse. With distance.”

“Worse?” Penny echoed. “You almost fucking started crying.”

“Shut up,” Eliot warned, glaring icily over his shoulder before returning his focus back to Quentin. “Is it better now?”

“Y-Yeah. Just… maybe we don’t try that again.”

“How far did you take him?” Julia asked.

Penny shrugged. “Paris.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, dropping his hand from Q’s face. “You ready for the last part?” He grinned. “You might get to hit him.”

Quentin laughed softly. “Can I maybe smoke first? This is all… kind of intense.”

“Of course. Let’s go.”

Outside, Eliot distributed cigarettes to those without and four of them sank into the lawn chairs while Penny paced behind them, ever impatient. 

While Julia checked in with Quentin, Eliot took the chance to let his eyes roam over him as well. He already seemed calmer, and he hated to think he had to use the command one more time, but they had to know if Quentin would get violent. It would determine how strict Eliot would need to be as far as his proximity to him went, and Fogg would want to know as well. 

He watched Quentin nod at something Julia said, tucking his hair behind his ear, revealing the red mark just under his jaw. The sight of it caused something hot to flash through Eliot and for a moment he was back in the circle, tears in his eyes and his hand on his cock as he teased devastating sounds from Quentin’s throat. He hoped his exhaustion would outweigh his hunger once Q joined him in bed, since the man was never interested in occupying his own space. Not that Eliot minded at all, but forcing himself to behave could prove much more difficult from now on.

“El?” Eliot turned his gaze to Margo, who lifted a knowing eyebrow at him, easily intuiting where his thoughts had been. “Q’s ready.”

Eliot gave her an innocent look in return, smiling fondly at Quentin as he stood from the table. 

“We’re going to walk to the edge of the wards and back,” he explained. “I can, uh, let you guys know when we get there?”

“Sounds perfect,” Margo told him, a rare indulgent tone to her voice. “Now, get to walking so I can check out that ass.”

Quentin sputtered at her but grinned before he turned to catch up to Julia and Penny.

“You’re terrible to him,” Eliot told her, bringing his cigarette to his lips.

“Don’t get protective, you’re the one who basically pissed all over him.”

Eliot wrinkled his nose at the analogy. “It’s a hickey, not watersports. Also, crude as fuck.” He sighed. “Besides, there was sex magic and Quentin Coldwater, Bambi. I think I showed remarkable restraint.”

“Don’t worry, honey, he’ll be all healed up soon enough. We just need to find the fucking freak who did this to him and turn him into a eunuch. I have a perfect set of heels for that.”

“Fuck,” Eliot laughed with a wince, crushing out his cigarette. “But agreed.”

“Julia told me they’re thinking this may be a bigger operation than just date rape. Otherwise, I’d be looking for the fucker myself.”

Eliot’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Margo waved her hand. “The spell on Q, it could have been put on anyone, he was just there. Meaning Mark had it ready to go before he even set eyes on him. They’ve found other people with it on them, too. Sunderland and some others did some kind of scan, and they’re going to try to track them down. And the bitch who wrote the fucking thing works for, like, some shadow military corporation or some shit.”

_ “What?  _ Why didn’t she say anything?”

“El, you were kind of busy with your own spell. And she’s not sure how Q would handle it right now.” Her voice went slightly raspy. “We could have really lost him, right?”

He reached for her hand across the table, his lips a thin, angry line. “We didn’t. We won’t.”

They sat in silence until both of them heard Quentin’s voice in their heads.  _ Okay, we’re here. _

This time, Eliot performed the tut that would allow Quentin to hear his call. He didn’t care at all if Margo heard it, too. It actually comforted him to know she would.  _ Come back to me, Q. _

He lit another cigarette as he started out into the distance, waiting for the three to arrive back at the cottage. When he first saw them approaching, walking side by side, it was obvious Penny was waiting to interfere, to allow them all to see it. 

Eliot sat up straighter in his seat as Penny stepped in front of Quentin, still fifty yards or so away. Penny continued walking, backwards this time, letting Quentin get closer, closer.

And then, he stopped. 

Eliot watched Quentin escalate slowly. Watched him laugh nervously as he tried to step around Penny, watched him grow increasingly more anxious, pulling at his hair as his voice grew sharper and more frustrated. Watched him finally run at Penny weakly, but he was caught easily and pushed back. 

It only took a few more attempts before Quentin threw a punch and Eliot stood from his chair, not wanting to see more.

“Penny, stop,” he called across the lawn. As soon as Penny turned, distracted, Quentin darted around him in a sprint. 

Eliot caught him, feeling Quentin immediately relax against him. “Fuck, this sucks so much,” he panted against his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Eliot told him, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“Damn, Coldwater, you punch like a middle schooler,” Penny laughed, jogging up to join them with Julia not far behind.

“I’m willing to practice, if you’d like. On your face,” he felt willing to add and Eliot suppressed a chuckle as he met Penny’s eye.

“Maybe some other night,” Penny replied agreeably before looking to the others. “Anyone else want to get completely fucking wasted now?”

“I believe I have something for that,” Eliot mused, leaving everyone outside to grab the faded tin from his bedroom. Once he returned, he and Penny each rolled a joint and started passing them around the table. Conversation drifted away from spells as they scrolled through their social media feeds and discussed television shows and argued over music, taking a moment to just be  _ fucking millenials  _ with bloodshot eyes and cackling laughter. 

Quentin was quiet, as always, but seemed to enjoy just being part of things as he studied his own phone screen, his eyes darting left to right.  _ Probably on Reddit. Again,  _ Eliot thought with a small smile.

But then, his eyebrows drew together, his lips pursed and he looked at Eliot with absolute righteous indignation. “I do not  _ enjoy  _ being  _ put in my place,”  _ he said mulishly, folding his legs up to his chest in the chair and glaring back down at his phone.

Conversation went quiet around the table as everyone looked to Eliot, who felt mystified himself until Julia snatched Quentin’s phone from his hand, easily evading his attempt to grab it away from her. She immediately started giggling, almost falling out of her chair. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Margo shouted, eyes wide as she looked ready to join Julia in her laughter.

“Q… oh my God…” Julia wheezed, her hand flapping in front of her face and a giggle erupted from Eliot at the thought of her actually passing out. “He looked up ‘brat.’”

Eliot felt his stomach jerk with laughter, and pressed the back of his fingertips to his mouth. But when Q snatched his phone back, glaring at Eliot, he couldn’t contain it anymore and he melted into giggles, tears in his eyes.

“I hate every single one of you,” Quentin growled, but made no move to leave his seat as even Penny fell into a chair to catch his breath.

  
  
  
  
  



	18. Welcome To Your Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Everybody Wants To Rule the World," version by Lorde, originally by Tears For Fears.
> 
> So, I'm giving you guys two chapters today, because for some reason I feel these two go together. They probably would have been one chapter, if not for length. Also, the story is going to get... slightly more serious soon.

_ Eliot _

It happened over a week later.

It was approaching midnight, and though there was a book propped on his knees and he desperately needed to be studying it, Eliot’s focus kept wandering. 

So much had changed in a week, and he really hadn’t taken the time to process it all. He could hear the soft vibrations of bass downstairs and found it amusingly disconcerting that he was here instead, his glasses perched on his nose and Quentin warm and sleeping against his side, his phone lax in his hand. He’d been reading before, and while Eliot had felt faint surprise that his boyfriend would do anything so gauche (gauche for Quentin, Eliot personally didn’t give a shit) as purchase a digital book, he’d been more surprised to see the familiar format of poetry stanzas on his screen. His boyfriend liked  _ poetry. _

And Eliot, self-declared Party King of Brakebills, solely responsible for the drop in the GPA of the entire Physical discipline, was happier here than he could remember being in years.

These moments didn’t make everything perfect, but he couldn’t quite work up any guilt over it. Julia was exhausting herself, spending all day in class, and all afternoon and most of some nights working with the Brakebills staff to track down any victims of the binding spell, to try to locate Mark Davidson. He’d offered to help more than once, but she’d only smiled and reminded him that his job was to hold Quentin’s leash. Remembering the suggestive note of her words, Eliot smirked softly. It wasn’t his fault if he enjoyed his job so much more than she did, was it?

There were also certain moments when Eliot couldn’t quite process all the rapid change that had occurred, and they snuck up on him  _ every time.  _ Sometimes Quentin would just smile up at him with his dimples and his goddamn earnest eyes, and Eliot would just barely manage to kiss him (because he’d very quickly learned what that smile was asking for), and then excuse himself to hide in the bathroom for long moments, breathing hard and just trying to find space inside himself to  _ feel _ , to accept it, when every ugly instinct told him he’d misread, he’d lose it, he didn’t deserve it. That familiar voice told him he was taking advantage like he always did, that Quentin would never be in his bed if he hadn’t been hurt, that once Quentin was safe again, didn’t need him, that everything would end. 

And it was of course Quentin who soothed that voice, that monster that lived within him, without even knowing it was there. Because Eliot was absolutely positive that one of Quentin’s internal circumstances was sincerity, and he had no issue with letting Eliot how much he’d wanted this, and for long he’d wanted it, and how grateful he felt to be wanted back. He didn’t say it plainly; Eliot wouldn’t have believed that. Words were usually no more than tools, or currency. 

No, Quentin said it in small ways, ways that made Eliot’s breath catch in his throat. Like when Eliot had dressed for the day in his suspenders and Quentin had blushed until he’d been goaded into confessing that those specific accessories may have featured in a fantasy or two since the first time he’d seen them. Or when Quentin had chosen the vest for him to wear, and it had been the same one he’d worn on the day of the exam. Or when Quentin went to fetch him a drink because he’d been stressing over his homework, and it had been his favorite brand of bourbon, the cheap one that no one knew he preferred, the one that reminded him of the few quiet, peaceful moments he’d claimed for himself before he’d left Indiana behind. 

But Quentin knew, because Quentin didn’t only want him because he’d been hurt.

There was also the difficulty of everyone else on campus adjusting to the fact that  _ Eliot Waugh  _ was in a  _ monogamous relationship  _ (fucking gasp), but Eliot didn’t allow that to bother him much, and he had the feeling Margo was handling most of it in her own threatening way in his frequent absence. When he was downstairs with Quentin, he did see the occasional spark of jealousy in someone’s eyes or outright disbelief, knew Quentin did too, but he ignored it easily. He also loved the way Q looked happily surprised to be kissed right after receiving those looks. 

Things were settling into some kind of new normal, even if it would have to adjust again in the future. For now, he and Quentin spent quiet days downstairs because Quentin insisted on maintaining a routine when it came to his class work. Which meant Eliot usually relented and ended up doing his own work as well, because none of his usual tricks worked to distract Q for long. He’d tried pouting, staring, posing gracefully across the room and pretending he wasn’t trying at all to distract his boyfriend, nope. Though he did always grin when Quentin would finally sigh and stand up to cross the room to kiss him, sometimes managing to forget his books long enough for Eliot to pull him into his lap for a few stolen minutes. It always ended with Quentin finally breaking away and giving Eliot a scolding look before he retreated, his skin flushed and his eyes sparkling. The afternoons held more variety, and the evenings were much the same as they’d always been, spending time with their friends in the common room or outside. The only thing that had changed with that was the flirtations Eliot had indulged in before were much milder now, and his retreat upstairs usually happened much earlier because he now had something to look forward to other than a party for its own sake.

Then, there was Quentin himself. Eliot was pleasantly surprised that he hadn’t had to use any of Julia’s advice so far. Quentin wasn’t spiraling. He ate the food Eliot prepared for him, though usually not enough for Eliot’s satisfaction, and when the shadows would appear behind his eyes, he’d allow Eliot to pull him outside for a cigarette, or even a walk across the Sea, or into the edges of the forest, or down to the banks of the Hudson. And no, Quentin didn’t talk about that night, made it clear he didn’t want to, but hardly any time had passed at all. It was a worry for another day, because he wasn’t in denial about it either. He was open to discussion on how his Abilify was affecting him, or how the investigation was going, or how he was healing. He’d taken his last pain pill days ago and there had been no complaints so far. He’d even felt like himself enough the previous evening to kick Eliot out of his own room to spend time with Margo, where he’d lain in her lap and watched  _ Cold Case Files  _ while discussing the cottage gossip _ ,  _ not returning to Quentin’s side until just before dawn. 

Eliot smiled softly as Quentin stirred against him in his sleep, most likely seeking a more comfortable pillow than his bicep. He plucked the man’s phone from the comforter, not wanting it to get lost in the shift, but Quentin stopped suddenly, his eyes flying open. He sat up quickly, his eyes darting around the room, and Eliot tossed his book to the end of the bed when he heard his breath quicken. 

“Q? Did you have a nightmare?”

He hesitantly touched Quentin’s arm, his concern growing as the man looked over his shoulder with absolute terror in his eyes. “Eliot…”

“I’m here, I’m here. What’s wrong?”

“I think… it’s happening? Fuck. It is.” Eliot watched in growing horror as Quentin started to pull away from him.  _ “El.” _

There was a wild moment of nothing but panic, Eliot’s brain seizing with fear. It was broken by Quentin actually setting a foot on the floor and he lunged across the bed, his arms wrapping around the smaller man’s torso. “Stay with me, Q. Stay. Stay.”

He felt Quentin pull against his grip for a terrifying second, but then he relaxed and Eliot sighed against his shoulder. “Come here, come here, come here,” he heard himself beg, and Quentin rolled into him in one fluid motion, grabbing at his hip and his neck. 

They were silent for a moment, both breathing shakily as Eliot pressed his lips to Quentin’s forehead and gripped the back of his head, waiting for the spell to go wrong somehow, waiting for Quentin to struggle against him, to try to leave. It took several minutes before he allowed himself to relax his embrace slightly. They’d put a plan in place for this, but it was so hard to remember at the moment. “Q, do you know where you wanted to go?” he asked softly.

“Um. Not really? I mean, I can kind of see it, i-in my head? But it’s not familiar.”

“But you feel like you could get there?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Can you describe it for me?”

“I don’t think I can, El. I’m sorry. It just… it’s like it  _ hurts.” _

“It’s okay,” Eliot promised him, running his fingers up through Quentin’s hair. “They’ll find him, it was just an idea. How does it hurt?”

“It just feels like there’s two of me? Or something. Like I’m going to get up and leave, but that I’m going to stay, and I can’t think about anything else. It’s like I’m trying to do both at the same time.”

Eliot squeezed his eyes shut, hearing the note of panic in Quentin’s voice. “I won’t let you leave, Q.”

“I know. I don’t want to. Fuck, I  _ do  _ want to.  _ Fuck,  _ Eliot, it feels like I’m dying.”

Eliot heard the hitch of Quentin’s breath and pulled him closer. This was presenting itself as a panic attack, and he worried that it would escalate the longer this went on. Reaching clumsily behind him for Quentin’s phone, he noted the time before tossing it to join the book at the end of the bed. He hoped Julia was right, that the call of the spell had to have a fixed duration. She couldn’t say, however, how long it would last. 

And what if she was wrong? What if Quentin stayed like this, until they found Mark, or cut through the miles of red tape that would lead to the bitch that wrote the spell in the first place? 

It turned out, however, that Julia had been right. After two hours of listening to Quentin weep intermittently against his chest, of feeling him shiver and tremble, of smoothing his hair and kneading his arm and whispering any comforting bullshit that sprang to mind, he slowly felt Quentin relax against him, asleep.

Eliot wondered if one could sleep under the command. It didn’t seem likely, so it was probably safe to assume it had expired for the time being.

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t activate again in a moment, and Eliot was so fucking  _ tired.  _ He felt like every muscle in his body had been rigid since he’d grabbed for Quentin, and vaguely wondered if he would ache in the morning. 

Reluctantly, he removed himself from Quentin’s side, not caring that he was only wearing his underwear and glasses as he left his room and shuffled down the hall to Margo’s door. 

The door was shut, and Eliot knew she probably wasn’t alone beyond it, but he also knew Margo would also kill him for not asking for help if she found out about it later. And Eliot couldn’t risk falling asleep without her.

Rapping gently on the door, he waited, hearing nothing due to the silencing wards Margo usually constructed before she took someone into her room. 

The door opened a crack, revealing his soulmate’s glittering eyes, and honestly her best hair, all tangled and wild. 

The minute she noticed his current state of undress, Margo’s expression steeled into emergency mode. “What’s going on?”

“The other anchor activated about two hours ago. It’s, um, over now, but I’m afraid I’m going to fall asleep. It was… intense, for lack of a more horrible word. He could call Q again, and--”

“Let me get my robe,” she told him, disappearing for a moment. Eliot backed away when a man he was almost sure was a Psychic student apologetically shuffled past him and down the hall, clutching his clothes before him to dip into the bathroom. Eliot thought of being embarrassed to be seen in his current state, but decided he was too exhausted to give a fuck. Margo soon reappeared and followed him back to his room, curling around Quentin’s side as Eliot joined her on the other, barely remembering to float his glasses towards the nightstand before he sank into the pillow. 

“How bad was it?” she asked softly once the lights were out.

“Fucking… bad. Can you go into shock from a panic attack?”

“I don’t know, El. Fuck. Two hours?”

“Not exactly, but close.”

“Get some sleep, then. I’ll make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Thank you, Bambi,” he sighed, already halfway there.

*

_ Quentin _

Quentin was confused when he opened his eyes the next morning to find Eliot next to him instead of pressed against his back, which had been his assumption before he’d woken up fully. But Eliot was sprawled on his own back almost gracelessly (never fully, Quentin was sure it was impossible for Eliot to ever look entirely like a normal human), his mouth slightly open and his arm thrown above his head.

And the warmth against Quentin’s back was soft, the arm around his waist much lighter than the familiar press of his boyfriend’s. Breathing in, he smiled at the familiar scent of Margo, and pressed himself back against her happily before he could think of any reason not to.

She hummed out a quiet laugh and scratched her nails lightly across his stomach. “You looking for a little morning dry hump, cutie? I don’t have the equipment, sadly.”

“Shut up,” he whispered, grinning sleepily. “When did you get here?”

“After El needed to pass out. Heard you wore him out last night, and not in the sexy way. You good now?”

He nodded against the pillow. “Yeah, I feel fine now,” he told her, but the memory of how fractured and terrified he’d felt the night before made him repress a shudder. Knowing it could happen again, at any moment… not a great feeling.

Feeling a slight shift in the bed, Quentin looked to see Eliot stretching his long arm into the air, his eyes blinking sleepily at him before he rolled onto his side. Quentin hated to see the dark smudges under Eliot’s eyes, but he was smiling as he reached out to touch his finger to the healing scar on Quentin’s chin. “Morning,” he greeted softly before peering over his shoulder. “Bambi, you back there?”

“Present, bitch,” she said, propping herself up to rest her chin on Quentin’s arm. 

Eliot smiled fondly at her. “I’m thinking french toast this morning. Fresh fruit. Maybe some  _ creme fraiche?  _ Wanna skip your first class and indulge with us?”

“Oh, no. I’ve already made plans for us for the day, and yours are going back to sleep until at least noon.”

Eliot’s brow furrowed. “Margo, I got plenty of sleep.”

“Uh-uh. You are taking the day off, and I am stealing your boyfriend.”

Quentin saw the hint of alarm in Eliot’s eyes. “Bambi, I have to be--”

“You don’t, though. Not if I’m around. If he can’t do the telepathy spell, I can. You need some time off, El.”

“I didn’t ask for any,” Eliot said, and Quentin tried not to tense at the bitchy undertone in his words. 

“Which is why I am so graciously demanding you  _ take  _ it,” Margo parried. “This isn’t negotiable.”

Eliot’s glare turned cutting, and Quentin couldn’t see Margo from behind him, but he watched the glare turn into a sullen pout before Eliot fell back against his pillow. “Fine. Noon, Bambi.”

“If Q wants. You know I’m  _ so  _ much more fun than you.”

Quentin wasn’t sure what to do to alleviate the tension, so he leaned forward to kiss Eliot on the corner of his lips, unable to angle for more due to the pillow. Eliot immediately turned to capture his lips, though, pulling gently with his own as he ran his thumb from Quentin’s ear down to his chin. 

His eyes were somber and worried as they looked up at him once they parted. “Anything I want to say will trigger the fucking spell, so… be safe?”

“Of course,” Quentin promised. “Get some rest. You’ve got to be tired of me by now, anyway,” he joked, but Eliot didn’t even smile, just shaking his head in denial of the statement. Feeling a little overcome, Quentin kissed him quickly again and let Margo lead him out of the room. 

He watched in confusion as she walked past the stairs, towards his bedroom. “So, breakfast?” he asked, following.

“In time,” she drawled as she stepped inside his door, walking right for his closet. What was it with them and his fucking clothes? 

“Can I get a shower or something before we play dress up?”

She smirked. “After I get your measurements.”

“That sounds… grabby.”

“Oh honey, you wish. Just stand still.” Quentin rolled his eyes as Margo pinched two fingers of each hand before pressing the joined digits together and drawing them apart in a neat line. She repeated the tuts several times as she circled him, like a tailor with an imaginary tape measure before slapping him lightly on the ass. “Good boy. You may shower. And remember who you’re being seen with today. I want conditioning, Coldwater.”

“Oh my God, fine,” he groused, grabbing Eliot’s stolen robe and escaping into the bathroom. 

When he returned to his room, he found his bed covered in clothes, some neatly laid out and still on their hangers, but most in a rumpled pile at the foot of the bed. “Am I allowed to get dressed?” he asked with an impudent tone. 

She smiled indulgently, but with a hint of warning in her eyes. “You didn’t dry your hair.”

“Why would I?”

“We are getting out of this damn cottage for the day, Q. That’s why. But you rock the wet look, honestly.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Stay in the robe for now. We’re going to my room.”

Quentin huffed out a breath as Margo led him back down the hall and into her bedroom, ushering him to take a seat at her vanity. He flopped into the chair, making sure the robe was covering anything essential before he relaxed. “I know Eliot’s sleeping, but if you try to put makeup on me, I will go right back in there and--”

“Calm down,” she interrupted, tapping him lightly on the top of the head with her hand. “All I’m gonna do is dry your hair and maybe moisturize you a little if you’d stop being a brat about it. It’ll be relaxing if you let it happen.”

“...Oh.” Quentin slumped in the chair. “That doesn’t sound… awful. Yet.”

Her reflection grinned at him in the mirror before disappearing to plug in her dryer. He watched as she reached for a bottle on her vanity, pumping a small amount of something into her hand and sliding her palms together before her fingers sank into his hair. 

And maybe he was a brat, because Quentin fought very hard not to close his eyes at the sensation of Margo’s nails scraping lightly against his scalp as she worked something that smelled  _ amazing  _ through his hair. She combed through the strands with her fingers and then brandished the dryer. His eyes did slip shut then, the quiet hum and gentle heat relaxing him until she clicked it off and set it aside. 

“So, are you going to be a gender-conforming ass and not let me help your face?”

“Um, no? My face needs help?”

“Honestly, no. You’ve got those goddamn genes people like me and El would gut someone for. But this is the spa portion of our date, so turn around.”

Quentin shifted to face Margo, who was looking over the many containers and bottles strewn across her vanity. “This will work,” she said, picking up a deep blue glass jar and twisting the top off before just barely dipping her finger into a beige colored cream. Quentin squinted as she applied it to his face, her thumbs and fingers working it into the skin. “Should I have shaved first, or something?”

“No, you look good with a little stubble. El likes it, too.”

“H-He does?”

She nodded with a smile. “Don’t worry, he’ll tell you everything he likes eventually. He’s not secretive about it.” She returned the jar to her vanity and looked him up and down. “Okay, we’re ready for clothes. I altered a few pieces for you that we’re not throwing out.”

“Altered?”

“With magic, dummy. Do you really think our clothes fit that well on their own?”

“I-I guess I never really thought about it?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Put on the gray shirt with the hairline stripes, the blue sweater, and the jeans I laid out. And the black leather shoes, not the brown ones.” She quickly performed a tut against his chest. “There’s a bell around your neck until I come get you, okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” 

Quentin returned to his room and found the clothes Margo wanted him to wear and started to dress. He wondered where she planned on taking him. The thought of leaving the cottage without Eliot was a little terrifying, but he couldn’t help but wonder what a day with Margo would be like, or ignore the quiet happiness he felt that she wanted to spend time with him without Eliot, something that had never happened before.

It wasn’t long before Margo barged into his room, perfectly made up with red lips to match her short dress. “Grab your coat.”

“B-But they reinforced the weather controls.”

She arched a brow at him. “Baby, we’re portaling the fuck out of here.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Margo, can we? I mean, what if--”

“Q. If that piece of shit activates the spell, I’ll know. I’ll call for Eliot and he’ll activate his, and we’ll portal right back here.” Her eyes turned soft. “We don’t know how long this is going to take. You can’t hide here forever.” She sighed. “And I want us to prove to Eliot that he can let go a little. There’s a party tomorrow night and he needs to be there. He promised it before all this happened and I think he’s already fucking forgotten. I’m gonna talk to him about it when we get back.”

“But we’ve  _ been _ going to the parties.”

She shook her head. “For an hour or two. He’s adjusted to your way of things. And there’s nothing wrong with your way,” she added quickly. “But he hasn’t been hosting, and he was asked to host this. And I don’t want people resenting you more than they already do.” Quentin bit his lip. He’d seen the looks people had sometimes given him during the parties in the last week, but Eliot had never mentioned being bothered by it, and Margo had said nothing until now. 

“Hey, don’t get pouty,” she told him, stepping forward to adjust the collar of his shirt. “It’s not your fault. People take time to adjust to things, but there’s give and take to shit like this. Eliot doesn’t give a shit right now, but he’s going to if people start getting shitty.”

“I get it. I-I don’t want him to be… I don’t know, different for me.”

Margo grinned at him as she stepped back. “Oh, sweetie, he’s already different. A good different. We just need to play a little nice so it stays that way, okay?”

Quentin nodded, managing a smile. “I’m still scared of where you’re taking me.”

Her smile turned wicked. “Oh, you should be.”


	19. Carry Your Throne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from song by Jon Bellion.

_ Quentin _

Quentin stepped through the portal and into bitingly cold air, looking around to find himself in a dingy alley between two tall brick buildings. Margo had already walked nearly to the street, but turned to raise an impatient eyebrow his way. “C’mon, I’m hungry.”

He pushed down the urge to call out a sarcastic “coming, dear” in response, because he had no doubt Margo could successfully hide a body in New York.

Catching up to her, Quentin let himself be led down the sidewalk full of people without question, figuring she’d tell him where they were going if she decided he needed to know, but he was relieved when she grabbed his hand and pulled him into a perfectly normal looking bagel shop.

The interior was full of people crowding in a badly formed line as they waited to approach the counter. “Do you, uh, wanna try a less crowded place?” he asked.

She looked back at him with a smile. “There’s a reason it’s crowded. And I figured bagels are portable; we can eat while we walk.”

“Okay, sounds fine,” he relented, though he wondered if they’d spend until noon just waiting for breakfast. 

The line moved fairly quickly, however, and soon he was watching Margo politely give her complicated order to the cashier, flirting just a little before she stepped aside to wait for her food. Quentin found the amount of options on the board overwhelming, so decided quickly that a cinnamon bagel with maple cream cheese sounded fine. 

Back on the street with their breakfasts in hand, Margo set a quick pace. “It’s a walk to where we’re going, so try to keep up.”

“O-Okay. But if it’s a walk, why the hell are you wearing those?” he laughed, gesturing down at her shining red heels.

Margo rolled her eyes. “Please. I can get my  _ Jurassic World  _ on in these, no sweat. They’re only three inches. I don’t wobble until a good four and a half, and that’s under great duress.”

“Uh, sure.”

Quentin found himself feeling content as he nibbled at his breakfast, occasionally licking cinnamon from his lips as he let Margo lead him down one street and another. It was a different experience for him than his usual attempts to traverse a crowded sidewalk. He usually found himself being bumped and shouldered, constantly excusing himself. With Margo, the people seemed to part for her commanding presence without even really glancing at her. 

Their food was long gone before Margo finally came to a stop, pulling him out of the crowd and into a nondescript brick building with a large pane window that displayed… clothes. Men’s clothes.

Quentin sighed. Honestly, he should have known. 

Once inside, Margo turned to look up at him. “Okay, here’s the deal. I know where I shop, and I know where El shops, but you are a whole new world. So, this may not work. And you will tell me if it doesn’t.”

“Margo, how am I even supposed to know? I-I don’t really pay attention to things like that. I don’t know if I’d like something or not, or if it would look ridiculous. I just… get things that look safe, that don’t make me stand out or anything.”

Margo looked him up and down with a discerning eye. “Okay. How about this? We experiment. A  _ little.  _ You go sit and argue on your fanboy message boards, and then I’ll have you strip and try on what I choose.”

He glared at the assumption of what he would do if left alone, but it wasn’t like she was wrong, so he looked around for a chair and flopped himself into it. And he did check for notifications on the message boards he frequented, but nothing really sparked his interest to debate, so he returned to the book he’d been reading the night before, letting himself get lost in the flow of words, line by line, the words calling up images of Eliot in his thoughts. The way he so often bit his lip, or smiled a little crookedly sometimes. The way his lips parted when he slept. The way his hair moved in the wind when they walked along the river. The way Eliot was always reaching for him, pulling him close, silently saying  _ come with me, be with me, I want you close. _

And Quentin still quite couldn’t believe it. He thought he’d been lucky just to have Eliot as a friend, that asking or even hoping for more would have left him humiliated and alone, because someone as awkward and maladjusted as himself couldn’t hope to actually hold the attention of anyone who shone as bright as Eliot always, always did.

“Are you reading fucking  _ poetry?” _

Quentin jolted up in his seat, almost fumbling the phone from his hands. Gripping it tightly, he locked the screen and turned a thin-lipped glare at Margo. 

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t  _ just  _ read Plover repeatedly and touch myself,” he griped.

Margo snickered. “Well, the Watcher Woman may have sparked my first girl crush, not gonna lie, but I believe you.” She lifted her arms to indicate the numerous pieces of clothing held in each of her hands. “We’ll start with these. Move your ass.”

Quentin allowed himself to be herded into a dressing room, watching as Margo organized the clothing into several outfits on the provided hooks before ordering him to get started. 

Quentin warily eyed the first outfit, tilting his head with cautious curiosity. It didn’t look… bad. In fact, he might have chosen it himself if he’d ever purchased clothes anywhere but a department store. 

Seeing the discreet price tag on the sleeve of the gray henley, Quentin’s eyes bulged out of his head. What the fuck was Margo thinking? It was a glorified t-shirt! No one in their right mind would spend so much on a single item of clothing. 

Huffing, Quentin wiped his hands down his face, knowing if he refused to even try the clothes on, there would be hell to pay. Maybe she was just trying to get ideas. Which made him scowl, because that would just mean more shopping trips.

Taking the shirt from the hanger, he was pleasantly surprised by the softness of the material and almost happily slipped it over his head. It felt wonderful against his skin, as much as he hated admitting it.

The jeans were… different. They weren’t overly tight, but definitely more fitted than any pair he’d worn before. He walked back and forth across the small room, trying to adjust to them for a moment before reluctantly stepping into the hall. 

Margo was thumbing through her phone, and looked up, her lips quirking as she slowly looked him up and down. “Hmm. Turn?”

Sighing, Quentin turned away from her for a moment before going full circle. 

She was smirking. “I knew that ass was hiding somewhere,” she teased. “What’s your opinion?”

“Oh, that matters?”

She grimaced. “Of course it matters, Quentin. If it were up to me, you’d walk around in nothing but sheer tunics and bishop sleeves.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t understand any of that, but sounds specific.”

She laughed. “A girl can dream. But you want to be comfortable and I respect that. This is a good look, not outside your norm. What do you think?”

He squinted, feeling sheepish. “I actually forgot to look?”

She groaned, standing up to maneuver him in front of a mirror at the end of the hall, and Quentin looked at his reflection with uncertainty. 

His hair looked different. Not obviously so, but it seemed fuller somehow, fell a little differently.

The shirt made him look different, too. It fit snugly across his shoulders and biceps, but was still incredibly comfortable.

The jeans were… snug.

“I mean, I don’t  _ hate  _ it,” he allowed.

And he didn’t. This… it was different, and a little strange, but he thought he could almost…  _ maybe _ see a fraction of what Eliot must see in him. It was a definite step up from what he’d walked into the store wearing.

Margo snorted. “You are such a princess. Go on, next outfit. Chop, chop.”

*

_ Eliot _

Eliot stretched languidly in his bed as he blinked to clear his vision of sleep. It took him a moment to take in the strange angle of the sunlight filtering in through his windows, to realize what it meant. He felt a small spark of anger flare back up in him at Margo for trying to handle him earlier. He’d really only agreed to prevent an actual argument occurring in front of Quentin, remembering the very few that had happened before. He and Margo could be volatile, and when those energies worked against each other, shit got broken. He did trust her to return safely if anything went sideways, but taking unnecessary risks seemed stupid to him. They had enough trouble without asking for more.

Eliot slowly smoked a cigarette as he wondered where Margo had dragged Quentin for the morning. He let the silent magic of the anchor spell free to search for his boyfriend, feeling a bit guilty for it, but he didn’t let guilt stop him often. 

He felt Quentin immediately, but… much, much farther away than he’d expected.

Eliot’s lips tightened with fury. Manhattan.  _ Manhattan?  _ Fuck. “Fuck!” he shouted, raking his fingers harshly through his hair. His fingers twitched, almost completed the telepathy tut. He had every intention of starting a magical twitter feud with her for being so fucking reckless.

But Q would hear it, too.

Eliot sighed raggedly, falling back onto his pillow with no small amount of dramatic flair. He forced his mind blank, only realizing it wasn’t working when he hissed in pain, noticing he’d been savaging one of his cuticles between his teeth. Unwilling to continue on that path, he forced himself out of bed and into the shower, where he occupied himself with every indulgence he could think of outside of an orgasm. He used his best bath products, inhaling the fragrant steam of the shower as he rinsed his hair, the slight hint of mint in the warm air. He moisturized, he exfoliated, he plucked his stray eyebrows and shaved his face, tamed his curls with careful precision until they looked perfectly careless.

By then, it was after eleven. Knowing Margo wouldn’t return with Quentin a minute before noon, he returned to his bed, finding his nail kit and getting to work, trying to mitigate the damage he’d done with his anxiety. Once finished, he went to his closet to choose what he would wear for the day. 

Eliot had barely pulled his pants on when a knock sounded against his door. Opening it, he had to quickly school his expression against his surprise. “Um. Hey, Scott.”

Scott Walters was a second year Knowledge student that Eliot had very eagerly and frequently hooked up with in his first year at Brakebills, He was tall, muscular and lean, and looked so much like the high school jocks of Eliot’s teen years that it caused something dark and masochistic to unfurl inside him every time Scott would press him into a wall and bite his shoulder, his teeth leaving bruises that sometimes lasted weeks. 

But Scott had gone home to Florida for the summer, and then Quentin had arrived, and though he’d found himself in Scott’s room a few times in those first weeks of his second year, the thrill had gone out of it. He hadn’t been able to admit the reason for that at the time, and after dodging texts from the man for weeks, he’d finally claimed he’d just grown bored. 

He watched Scott look him over appreciatively, a small smile on his full lips. “Hey, Eliot. I couldn’t find anyone downstairs, but Ford’s party is still on for tomorrow, right?”

Shit. Eliot had completely forgotten. He opened his mouth to admit the mistake, to cancel or reschedule, but Ford was… just the sweetest man, and literally the only reason Eliot had passed his Horomancy class the previous year. How he was best friends with Scott, Eliot had no earthly clue, but he didn’t hold it against him at all.

He could make time. He could pull it together. 

“Of course. There’s a few finishing touches to throw together, but it’s still on.” He managed a small smile. “No one would want to disappoint Ford. In fact, I’m offended you asked.”

Scott shrugged, a smug smirk on his face. “Well, with what I’ve been hearing lately, I thought maybe you’d hung up your party crown and bailed on us.”

Eliot stood up straighter, on the defensive but unwilling to show it. “Oh? Well, you Knowledge boys are usually misinformed; too much studying.”

“Actually, I heard it from Casey. It’s kind of all over campus: the Reformation of Eliot Waugh.”

Eliot’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t recall reforming lately, but your concern is appreciated.”

“Oh, so you’re not dating Coldwater?” Scott asked with a slight smirk.

Eliot bit his lip, his smile turning condescending and a touch cruel. “And the reason you’re here suddenly reveals itself. Jealousy really isn’t your color.”

Scott’s thick eyebrows lifted. “Jealousy? Try the concern you mentioned earlier.”

“And where is this so-called concern stemming from, exactly? The fact you’re not getting fucked well enough? I’ve never really adhered to religion, but I can pray for you, if you’d like.”

“Are you trying to say  _ you’re  _ getting fucked the way you like?” Scott countered, and his smile was smug. “Because whatever personal issues have you following that emo little shit around are going to resolve one day, Eliot, but I don’t know if your reputation will survive it. Especially when you get  _ bored,  _ and everyone has to deal with him. I can already see him crying in class and cutting himself--”

Scott’s words were cut off as he was slammed into the wall across the hallway from the force of Eliot’s magic. His eyes darted around wildly before settling on Eliot’s face, and he leered suggestively, a flush climbing up his throat. “Oh, you’re already starving for something better, huh?” he asked, obviously remembering the rough handling they’d both enjoyed during their fling, though Eliot had never used his telekinesis for it.

“That wasn’t a ‘fuck me,’ Scott. That was a ‘fuck you.’ And the next one will fracture your skull, so I suggest you leave.”

Eliot closed the door before he could respond, leaning against it to gather himself. “Fuck,” he whispered, looking towards the ceiling. Scott could go to Fogg over that, though he highly doubted he would. Most Brakebills students governed themselves when it came to personal drama. And Fogg also knew the pressure Eliot was currently under. Nothing to worry about there, then.

But knowing the entire campus was whispering about him, about  _ Quentin,  _ that was not acceptable. Eliot was used to the gossip that surrounded his sex life, but it was the last thing he wanted Quentin to have to endure right now. He just didn’t know how to fix it. The party was tomorrow, and he couldn’t uninvite Scott, not when the party was for his best friend. He couldn’t hide Quentin away in his own room until the rumor mill grew disinterested, either. 

Eliot sighed as he returned to his closet, pulling a shirt from a hanger with more force than strictly necessary and shrugging it over his shoulders, his hands working the buttons as his mind raced, coming to one fucking awful conclusion. 

He couldn’t hide this from Quentin at all, couldn’t protect him from it. If he didn’t say something now and Quentin overheard anything elsewhere, it would be worse. There would definitely need to be a strategy meeting, with Margo included. Margo was a fucking King when it came to declaring war on the opposition. 

Eliot was lighting another cigarette from the stress of it all when he felt the presence of Quentin nearby. “Oh, thank fuck,” he whispered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as he tried to relax his expression. He’d tell Quentin, yes, but that didn’t mean he wanted the man panicking as soon as he walked in the door.

*

_ Margo _

Quentin looked good. 

Quentin looked  _ really  _ good. 

Margo honestly could have spent well into the afternoon dragging him from store to store once she truly realized what she had to work with. She’d suspected, of course, but there was just something about the combination of his hot little body and shy uncertainty that was devastating. She knew she’d left Eliot pissed at her, but once he set eyes on his boyfriend, he’d forget all about it. She couldn’t wait until all the bullshit with Mark Davidson was done with. She’d dress both her boys up and make them take her out on the town. Quentin wouldn’t play the role as well as Eliot, but she’d trained worse. 

Quentin had started squirming once she’d suggested a third store, however, so they made one secret little trip at his request before picking up takeout and heading back through the portal. Margo cast a preservation spell on the food and left it in the kitchen. She then followed Quentin up to his room, instructing him on which clothes could be hung in the closet and which needed to be folded and kept in his dresser. He was growing impatient, though, his lips twitching and his glances darting towards the hall. 

“Q, Eliot isn’t going to expire if he has to wait a few more minutes to land eyes on you.”

Quentin sighed. “It’s not that, I just… he wasn’t exactly happy this morning.”

“Oh honey, he’s going to forget all about that, trust me,” she assured him, pinching at the very visible curve of his bicep through the fitted shirt she’d purchased for him. “Fine, let’s go show you off.”

Margo walked ahead, barging into Eliot’s room as she always did, and immediately noticed the tight line of his mouth and tension in his features as he sat against his headboard. “He’s back. Unharmed,” she told him. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Something other than her was up his butt, then. “Ready to see my latest masterpiece?” she asked.

That caused a small spark of humor to flare in his eyes. “Can you really claim a masterpiece when you had such exquisite material to begin with?” he quipped easily and Margo grinned as she heard Quentin sigh at their antics from behind her. She stepped aside to let him enter the room, beaming as she watched the hard lines of Eliot’s face morph into soft surprise as he looked over every inch of Quentin. 

Quentin stood with his back to Margo, slouching shyly as he barely withstood Eliot’s examination without bolting from the room. Eliot stood slowly, tossing his cigarette absently into the ashtray as something delighted and almost shy passed through his eyes. He ran his finger down the line of Q’s arm, bringing the other up to touch his hair. “You look… nice.”

“Yeah?”

Eliot only nodded, but Margo could see the heat rising in his eyes. Still, Quentin could startle like a rabbit if you paid too much attention to him, and Eliot knew that better than she did. 

“We brought Chinese for lunch.”

Eliot’s eyes left Quentin and he curled his lip at Margo. “Of course you did. Still, it doesn’t ruin my day when you brought me such a nicely wrapped gift,” he said, running his finger down the center of Quentin’s chest. The teasing smile left his face, however, as he turned his eyes back to her. “We all need to discuss something, anyway. Chinese is of little importance at the moment.” She watched an idea pass through Eliot’s mind, that little impish look to the ceiling she adored so much. “Actually, meet you in the dining room in ten?”

Margo arched a brow at him. “Gonna unwrap your present?”

He grinned. “Just a peek.”

Margo smiled, closing the door behind her as she left the boys to themselves.

The ten minutes turned into twenty, but the preservation spell held as Margo set the table for three and placed the variety of containers in the center, making sure the pork with garlic sauce was closest to Eliot, since the picky baby wouldn’t eat anything else. She poured an average pinot gris into three glasses, but was filling her second when the men arrived. Q’s face was still flushed and Eliot’s hair was wrecked as they took their seats, and she rolled her eyes as Eliot perked up slightly once he located the pork and took it for himself. 

“So, what managed to happen in the four whole hours we were gone? Did Julia call?”

Eliot bit a slice of pork from his fork, chewing for a moment. “No. Scott showed up at my door this morning.”

Margo almost choked on her wine, and Quentin turned to look at Eliot curiously. “Are you serious? For what? To ask if the position of mistress was open?” she asked.

Eliot shrugged one shoulder. “Not so much, but he made it obvious he wouldn’t turn it down. Anyway, the Brakebills peanut gallery needs to be handled.” His lips twisted. “And I might have thrown him into a wall.”

Quentin looked at Eliot in shock, but Margo was well acquainted with her best friend’s temper and only sighed. “Eliot, if you get yourself kicked out--”

“He won’t say anything, not after the shit he said that set me off.”

“What did he say?” Quentin asked, looking concerned. 

Eliot closed his eyes for a moment, obviously trying to ground himself. “He… insinuated some things. About you. I didn’t appreciate it.”

“El, you’re just going to have to spit it out,” Margo told him before emptying her glass and leaving her seat to grab another bottle from the sideboard. They were going to need it. 

Eliot took the offered bottle from her hands and popped the cork telekinetically, catching it in one hand to rest it on the table before filling his glass almost to the brim. “Fine. He made it clear people were of the opinion that I’m somehow above Quentin and that I was risking my  _ reputation.”  _ He chuckled darkly. “Like it’s something to treasure.”

Quentin shocked them both by laughing. 

“Q?” Eliot asked softly, and Margo looked at him curiously. 

“I’m sorry. I guess it shouldn’t be funny, but… you’re kind of out of my league, El. People were going to notice, they have eyes.”

Margo sighed, leaning her shoulders back into the hard cherry of the chair and crossing her arms. Eliot frowned, looking angry as he carefully placed his glass back onto the pristine tablecloth. “We will… discuss that point of view later,” he said evenly, and Margo watched the tip of his tongue flick against his teeth. Oh, he was  _ pissed.  _ “For now, we need damage control. If people keep talking, your privacy will eventually be breached. We’re literally at a school where twenty percent of the student body is psychic. Do the math.”

“El, I’ve been trying to keep people from talking, but you’ve got to work with me here,” Margo said. 

“I know, Bambi, threatening people only works for so long if the threat doesn’t come to fruition. Ford’s party is tomorrow and I haven’t even started on any of the requested spellwork. And I don’t want to let him down, but if anyone says a fucking word…”

“Eliot, I don’t care,” Quentin said. “You think I didn’t expect something like this to--”

Margo inhaled sharply as Eliot snapped to the side to glare at his boyfriend. “I said  _ later,”  _ he growled.

Quentin’s eyes turned wounded, but just as quickly turned furious, and Margo watched as he smacked his glass on the table and left his seat, almost tipping it over in his hurry to leave the room. Drops of wine sank into the tablecloth, barely noticeable for the color. 

Eliot’s shoulders fell as he sank his face into his hands. “God _ damn  _ it,” he cursed, just under a shout. She remained silent while he gathered himself and eventually sat up. “I don’t know if I care anymore. I just fucking don’t.”

Margo steeled her expression. “You better be talking about the fucking party.”

His eyes narrowed as he glared at her for her audacity to even suggest otherwise. “Of course I’m talking about the fucking party. Or all of it, really. Managing this fucking place like I own it. My  _ reputation.”  _ He rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. “Why the fuck do I care about any of it? It’s… God, it’s stupid. Was it always this stupid?”

“Eliot. We rule this goddamn place. Giving that up now is an option, but there will be fallout. And I don’t care what Q says, it will hurt him. And if anyone hurts him after all this, I’ll get fucking expelled.”

He smiled at her. It was tired and wan, but she’d take it. “So, how do we deal with it, then? Fuck, I want a cigarette.”

Margo stood from the table, walking around to rest her hands on Eliot’s shoulders and press her thumbs into the muscle there. He leaned back, looking up at her gratefully. “Well, today’s little trip was actually the first part of my plan, but I figured if you weren’t up for it, you’d appreciate it either way.”

“It was very appreciated, but do elaborate.”

“Come make me a real drink first; you have smokes at the bar.”

Eliot allowed her to pull him from his seat and they wandered across the common room, but found it occupied by a third year who would most definitely snitch if they smoked inside. Eliot scowled, pocketing the cigarettes and quickly tossing together two cocktails for them to carry out onto the patio. Margo seated herself in his lap as she waited for him to light her cigarette and then his own. “So. Fill me in.”

“Okay, but you might not like it.”

“I’ll try to keep an open mind.”

“Well, I was thinking of how no one really talked about  _ our  _ boys before. Not in a bad light, anyway. Remember Justin?”

Eliot grinned. “I do. He had a tongue ring.”

“That was nice, but I was more focused on the fact that he was possibly more timid than Q at first.”

Eliot’s lips pursed thoughtfully. “Debatable.”

“But  _ after  _ we adopted him for that week, do you know he got laid, like, extensively? Our influence lasted for months, El. He sent me a card about it.”

Eliot chuckled. “Good for him. Didn’t he fail out, though?”

“He did, it was sad. But I was thinking, what if we did that for Q? Not in reality, I know you’re feeling possessive and I respect that, but what if everyone just thought I was dick-whipped too?”

Eliot grimaced in thought. “I mean… maybe? But he’s so skittish, I’m not sure anyone would actually buy it.”

“See, I think that would make it even more mysterious. Picture it,” she said, waving her hand through the air. “Our shy little Q, secret sex god behind closed doors, so amazing he has Margo fucking Hanson and Eliot fucking Waugh wrapped around his dick.”

Eliot’s smile at the thought showed her actual teeth. “You do paint a lovely picture, Bambi. Do you think Q would go for it?”

“That’s the beauty, he doesn’t even have to. It would help if he did, but all I’d really have to do is bite my lip and look all hot and bothered when I lay eyes on him, and the rumor mill will do the rest. They’ll think we’ve finally found our perfect third, and they’ll eventually adjust to it.” She laughed. “Hell, I can even moan out his name next time I get fucked if you think it’ll help.”

Eliot actually tittered at that, smoke coming out of his nose. “God, I love you.”

“Ditto, bitch,” she told him, kissing his brow. “You should probably go take care of Q now, though.”

Eliot’s smile fell. “I should. I really don’t know what to say at the moment, though. I’m still pissed at him. And myself,” he added, more quietly.

“Then be pissed. But he’s not going to change overnight, El. We can’t time travel and undo whatever made him hate himself so much. Go kiss and make up. Or try. Do you have a list for the party, though?”

“Um, yeah. It’s under the bar.”

“Okay, I’ll get started on the easier shit. But I fully expect help, and soon.”

Eliot nodded, draining his cocktail like the professional he was before carefully setting her on her feet. Margo returned to the chair without him to nurse her own drink and finish her cigarette before starting on the party preparations, feeling better now that a plan was in place and her best friend was on board. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	20. Choosing My Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Losing My Religion" by BELLSAINT, originally by R.E.M.
> 
> So, I am a giant pushover. And if I get a lot of comments cursing me for the way this chapter ends, I'll post the next one. Stay tuned!

_ Quentin _

Quentin stared down at the pages of  _ The Flying Forest,  _ unable to focus on the words. He’d left the gift he’d picked up earlier that day for Eliot on his bed, and hoped his stormy mood hadn’t fucked up the spell he’d placed on them before he’d escaped to his room. But it had been over half an hour, and he wasn’t sure Eliot was coming at all.

He’d never seen Eliot so angry, not at him, and he couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t something that could be changed. It just had to be dealt with, didn’t it? No one was ever going to think he deserved Eliot’s attention, not for more than a night, anyway. It would blow over eventually. The threat of someone being nosy enough to try picking at his wards was panic-inducing (because his wards sucked on the best of days), but none of them could prevent that.

_ That’s not why he’s mad, _ whispered a voice in his mind, and Quentin frowned. He didn’t know what to do with that, it didn’t fit in his head, a world where Eliot was somehow the naive one in their relationship. He appreciated the man’s commitment to making him feel desired, and he was starting to cautiously believe that desire was  _ real _ , but it didn’t change the truth. The world had never given Quentin any notion that he stood out in a positive way. He wasn’t striking, or elegant, had never really been called anything other than “cute” and maybe “handsome” a time or two. It had never really bothered him. He knew he wasn’t unattractive, either. It wasn’t like he hated the way he looked; he just rarely paid attention because no one else really did, either. 

And he was angry, too. Eliot could gently order him around all day, and Quentin could even admit to the fact that he loved every second of it, but commanding him to shut up like he was some kind of child was crossing the line. It had been humiliating and uncalled for.  _ Fucking “Daddy,”  _ he thought darkly.  _ My ass. _

He crossed his legs at his ankles and settled the spine of the weathered book against his legs, determined to lose himself within the pages, but just when he was managing to get pulled in, a soft knock sounded against his door. Quentin tossed the book aside in defeat. “Come in.”

Eliot stepped inside hesitantly, and Quentin had to force himself not to smile the second he noticed the new glasses perched on his nose. He’d seen them in a display window and had immediately pictured Eliot wearing them. After a quick bit of magic, they’d found their way into his pocket with Margo’s enthusiastic encouragement. They were tortoiseshell with a thick frame, and had faintly reminded Quentin of his Ginsberg obsession during his freshman year of undergrad. He’d used Eliot’s older pair of glasses to mimic the prescription needed, but he’d never tried the spell before and wasn’t sure if it had worked. 

As Eliot stepped towards the bed, however, Quentin noticed the faint red patches under his eyes, the unsure tilt of his mouth. “El?”

“Q, I’m  _ sorry,”  _ he breathed, taking a seat on the very edge of Quentin’s bed like he wasn’t sure he’d be allowed more space. His eyes darted around the room, never settling. “I…” He bit his lip and Quentin watched his shoulders hitch before his eyes blazed with anger, watched as Eliot violently forced himself to project calm. His voice was still thick when he spoke again, but much more controlled. “I was angry with you, but I had no right, no fucking  _ reason  _ to speak to you like that.”

“Okay,” Quentin replied, moving onto his knees to crawl closer to Eliot and settling near his hip. “I agree that you didn’t, but I’m okay. It’s not the end of the world.” He reached for Eliot’s hand, and it was given, but Eliot’s eyes remained on the door. 

“I guess not. I just… I found the glasses and I remembered…” His head tilted down. “I used to leave presents when I was a kid. Before I realized even that made things worse for me, made me a target. When I didn’t understand what was wrong with me, why everything I did or said just got me…” He laughed almost silently and Quentin watched a tear escape his eye before he hastily wiped it away. “They were stupid things. We were so goddamned poor. I’d find rocks that looked a little different from all the other rocks, or arrowheads, o-or fucking weeds because some weeds are pretty and I still think that. But I’d leave them on the bed. Because even then, I knew they wouldn’t change anything, but I  _ hoped.  _ And I just went in there to think for a minute, and I opened the case, and it made me… Q, I sounded like my dad down there.” Eliot’s control broke for a moment, his face crumpling painfully and Quentin’s heart broke when he couldn’t recover and covered his face instead, curling down towards his knees. 

Quentin’s mind went blank with panic, but he watched his hands pull at Eliot, and that felt right, so he gathered Eliot against him, letting his head rest against his chest, letting him hide his face. His body was rigid as he fought his tears, jerking every few seconds as Quentin smoothed a hand down his back, the other curled into Eliot’s hair as he gathered his thoughts and let the other man calm against him, his breath slowly evening out as the minutes passed.

“El… I don’t know much about your dad. I’m not sure I want to, but if you ever want to tell me, I’ll listen. But you are  _ nothing  _ like him, I know. You can’t be. You don’t hurt people, not on purpose.”

“I hurt you,” Eliot said quietly.

“No, you pissed me off,” Quentin told him, smiling a little when he felt Eliot laugh. “And that’s probably going to happen a lot, but I give as good as I get.”

“You do,” Eliot sighed, sounding happy for it. “You’re so hot when you’re mad at me.”

Quentin rolled his eyes and tugged at Eliot’s arm until he sat up. His eyes were bloodshot behind the lenses of his glasses, but not as pained as they’d been moments ago. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, leaning forward to kiss him, and Eliot hummed against his lips, his tongue flicking out to curl against Quentin’s mouth, enthusiastically agreeing to the change of subject. Quentin opened to him immediately, and soon Eliot was pushing him back against his pillow, knees framing hips as his tongue licked into Quentin’s mouth slowly, in a way that quickly turned to torture.

He sighed as Eliot moved to his jaw, up to his ear, down his throat, nipping and sucking. “I’m remembering I’m mad at you,” he heard him whisper, sounding amused.

“That’s… bad timing,” Quentin managed to respond, his eyes rolling when Eliot’s tongue traced the shell of his ear.

“Not necessarily. It will help me prove a point.”

Quentin was about to ask for clarification when Eliot’s tongue dove into his ear and a stuttered cry shot from his own mouth, his hips arching off the bed. He vaguely heard Eliot laugh and wanted to curse him for it.

Then, Eliot spoke into his ear, his voice barely more than a growl. “Every sound you make, every single one, makes me want to fuck you. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucking heard, and I’ve heard a  _ lot _ . You don’t get to tell me I’m out of your league when half the time I’m panting after you like a dog.”

“El--”

“Quiet, Daddy’s talking,” Eliot cut him off, nipping at the very edge of his earlobe, and Quentin wouldn’t admit even under threat of death that the command made him harder, but he couldn’t control the hot flush he felt creeping over his skin. He swallowed as he felt Eliot slowly sink down against him,  _ grinding  _ against him for one brief, white-hot second before pulling away. “You feel that? I stay that way, and you  _ know  _ I don’t have to. Why would I choose to?” Quentin gasped when Eliot’s teeth bit into the muscle of his shoulder, breaking that barrier between them, though he carefully avoided the older wounds. “Why, Quentin? An answer is required,” he informed him before tracing his tongue over the bitten flesh.

“Fuck. Um… because you want to fuck me?” he asked, feeling like an asshole. 

“Close, but I’d like an adjective added to your answer.” Eliot sucked at the mark, and Quentin thought of the bruise it would leave, his cock twitching. 

“U-Um, oh my God, you can’t keep doing that,” he moaned as Eliot continued biting and sucking a line across his shoulder. Was he trying to make a goddamn pattern?

“Why? You’ll let me.”

“Fuck you for being right,” Quenting gasped as Eliot laved his tongue across the abused skin. 

“Hm, yes, but answer me, Quentin. I appreciate symmetry and I may make a matched set on the other side.”

“Jesus Christ. Because you  _ only  _ want to fuck me?”

“Good boy,” Eliot breathed, pressing a chaste kiss across the set of bruises Quentin could alrady feel forming. 

“Maybe, but ‘only’ is an adverb in that context.”

Eliot snorted against his neck. “Fuck you, I was an art student.”

“I would accept that as a reason for you to fuck me,” Quentin retorted, biting his lip when Eliot sat up to look down at him with mild surprise. He hadn’t actually meant to say it, but now it was out there, and Eliot looked gorgeous straddling his hips, his glasses perched precariously at the end of his nose. “You’re kind of fucking beautiful right now,” he admitted.

Eliot smiled a little shyly, which was a strange look with the way he arched his eyebrow. “I hope you still think that when you see what I just did to you.”

“I will,” Quentin promised, and feeling daring, he lifted his hips against Eliot’s ass, awed at the way Eliot’s eyes fell shut and his lips parted. 

“Fuck, Q,” he sighed. “I’m not… we can’t…”

“Just this,” Quentin whispered. “Just for a minute?”

Eliot slowly nodded, and Quentin lifted his hips again, and Eliot met him this time, giving him the friction he needed. 

“Can you look at me?” he asked quietly, his fingers trailing slowly up Eliot’s thighs.

“You… are asking for a  _ lot  _ of restraint right now,” Eliot gasped. 

“I didn’t ask for it, that’s on you.”

Eliot’s eyes opened, hazy but direct. “It’s been two weeks, Q.”

Quentin couldn’t argue that logic, though he wanted to. Still, torturing Eliot wasn’t the right thing to do, even if it was the enjoyable one. He settled against the bed and pulled at Eliot’s hand. “Just kiss me, then.”

Eliot smiled, leaning down. 

*

_ Eliot _

The following evening, Eliot was in his bathroom applying his eyeliner when he heard Quentin return to what he was starting to think of as their bedroom. But Quentin’s clothes remained down the hall, and he’d left earlier to get dressed. “You were gone a while,” Eliot called, artfully smudging the liner with the tip of his pinky finger.

“Margo made me let her do my hair again.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Eliot chuckled, capping the eyeliner and returning it to his medicine cabinet before he exited the room to take a look at his boyfriend.

Quentin was dressed in a  _ very  _ nice pair of jeans that hugged his thighs in all the best ways, paired with a simple black henley that clung to his arms and shoulders. “How are you feeling about our plan?” Eliot asked, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from the front of his boyfriend’s shirt.

“The same as I was feeling when we talked about it last night.”

“Well, there were drinks involved last night, and you do get a little bold when alcohol is involved.” Eliot grinned, thinking of just how bold he’d gotten last night, his fist clenching in Eliot’s hair as he’d kissed him bruisingly. (Before artlessly passing out, leaving Eliot gasping and laughing in the dark.)

Quentin smiled. “I don’t really have to do anything except not run away from Margo. I think I’m okay.”

Eliot grinned down at him. “Bambi would love it if you ran away from her; she has yet to find someone that committed to playing hard to get. But try not to tonight.” He removed his hands before they found themselves sliding under the sinfully soft shirt. “Did she tell you she wants to take you out again tomorrow?”

“She said she wanted the three of us to go, yeah. I just don’t know how comfortable I am with her spending so much money. I didn’t say anything yesterday because…”

Eliot smirked. “Because you’re so deliciously afraid of her?”

Quentin nodded. “Something like that, yeah. But I couldn’t keep track of how much she spent, just that I’d never be able to pay her back.”

Eliot chuckled, petting at Q’s shoulders. “Oh, sweetheart. Welcome to being a kept man.”

“That sounds… problematic in some sort of sexist way I can’t figure out.”

Eliot ran his fingers over the wrinkle in Quentin’s brow. “I had the same issue at first, but you grow to love it, I promise.”

Q’s eyes met his, confused. “Margo… she does this for you?”

Eliot nodded. “Of course she does. You don’t exactly see me running off to work after classes, do you? Hardly anyone here works, the course load is too exhausting. Everyone makes ends meet with magic, for the most part. It’s almost a class in itself. But Bambi is fucking loaded, with full access to Daddy’s credit cards. Not that we don’t steal sometimes instead. It’s just fun.”

Quentin smiled bashfully up at him. “I did kind of steal your glasses.”

“Well, that just makes it sexier.”

“If you say so. I just don’t get why she’d want to… I don’t know,  _ keep  _ me?”

“Because she loves you, idiot.” He watched a series of expressions cross Quentin’s face as he processed that, quietly surprised that lust wasn’t one of them. Denial, of course. A touch of fear. That weird look Eliot couldn’t quite figure out that he always got when there was a question he couldn’t answer immediately without more thought, like he was slightly angry the answer wasn’t already within him. He figured it was probably some nerd genius thing he couldn’t understand, a vague annoyance over not being omniscient.

“I didn’t know that,” Quentin said simply, thoughts still moving beyond his eyes. “But I guess I’ve known her long enough to figure it’s not something she’d say.”

“No, she won’t say. Not until she trusts it more.” He moved closer to Quentin, cupping his jaw within his hands. “Your face is all serious now.”

Quentin smiled. “I guess… just. People don’t really love me much, you know? Sure, my dad. And Jules. But that’s really been it. Ever. It’s just kind of weird, is all. Nice, but weird.”

“Well, get used to it. You’re lovable.” And it was easy enough for him to say, because while true, it wasn’t quite as personal as revealing his individual feelings. 

Quentin blushed up at him. “I’ll try.”

*

_ Quentin _

Quentin wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so strange at a party, so  _ seen.  _ He was sure he wouldn’t have noticed if Eliot and Margo hadn’t told him people had been talking, but now that he knew it was incredibly obvious. It was difficult to stop himself from squirming every time he caught someone looking away from him. 

But Julia was there, his lifelong buffer against the rest of the world. She didn’t stay with him, but he smiled every time she checked in with him from across the room with just a grin or lift of her eyebrows. He saw her currently sitting in between Penny and Kady in the window seat, laughing as she sipped at the evening’s specialty cocktail. He was glad she was allowing herself to have fun, knowing she’d been spending so many hours trying to fix things for him, and whoever else was involved.

Quentin sipped at his own bourbon, neat. Ford had requested a magical cocktail that frequently made the rounds at the cottage parties, and Quentin had accidentally tried it before, in that first month when he’d been so overwhelmed by Eliot’s attention that he would have tried anything the man offered him, up to and most likely including heroin. Framing the memory with what he knew now, it was hard not to grin. Eliot had given him the drink so casually, the drink that made you feel like you were experiencing a very lazy blowjob, and had looked so fucking proud of himself as Quentin had sputtered and blushed and eventually escaped to his room.  _ Asshole.  _

He’d managed to keep something of a distance from Eliot since the party had started, letting his boyfriend slip back into the role he’d been so comfortable in just two weeks before, but he had spotted him drinking his own bourbon that he’d stowed under the bar, and Quentin knew it was the Ezra Brooks, shuddering at the thought as he swallowed down his own Koval. With some things, Quentin was learning that he was the snob in their relationship, even if Eliot played the part much better. 

He did try to stay within line of sight with Eliot or Margo, however. When he hadn’t, they’d started firing off their sending spell, checking in, asking where he was, etc. It was a little… much, and it made him all too aware that at any time he could be silently ordered to just walk out the door and disappear. 

_ I’m coming for you, Coldwater. Showtime. _

Quentin’s eyes darted around the room at Margo’s threat, but landed on Scott Walters first, standing at the bar across from Eliot. He was still learning the subtle differences that spelled out when his boyfriend was playing a role, but it was very clear to him at the moment. He watched Eliot smile politely before pulling a bottle from the shelf, watched him make conversation as he mixed and poured before sliding the glass across the bar. 

Quentin couldn’t pinpoint the difference, only that Eliot had never really looked at him that way before. It was colder, somehow. 

And then Margo was looking up at him, pure evil in a skin tight dress and very close. “You ready for me?”

Quentin laughed. “I honestly don’t think I ever will be, no.”

She grinned, walking her fingers up her chest as she bit her lip. “I’ll be gentle.”

“No, you won’t,” he argued, but tried to relax against the wall as she crowded close to him, her lips near his ear.

“Just think of how hard El is getting right now,” she told him. 

“Y-You don’t think it would, I don’t know, bother him? A little?”

“Oh, it definitely does. He probably wants to walk over and pull me off of you, and he can’t. That would ruin the illusion. But he’s also remembering all the ideas we had for you before he went and got all those sticky feelings.”

“There were ideas?”

“Mm-hmm. But I knew I wasn’t gonna get to play when he said he’d like to watch you eat me out while you fucked him. You know, so we could be face to face and maybe make out a little.”

Quentin blinked rapidly, feeling his face growing hot, remembering the way Eliot had let him grind up against his ass the night before. “O-Okay? Was that w-weird or something?”

“Sweetie, you’re not the type he bottoms for. He only goes for that when he wants something mean. That’s when I knew you weren’t a flavor of the week.” She pulled away to study his face, her teeth showing. “Oh, you’re into that, aren’t you? I wasn’t really sure you would be.”

“What? No. I-I mean. What part? I-I don’t think I could be… be mean to him.” But then he remembered a drunken flash from the darkness of Eliot’s bed, when he’d fisted Eliot’s curls in his hand and sucked on his tongue and how Eliot’s breath had caught in his throat.  _ Oh shit, did I fall asleep on him? _

She rested her hand on his chest, all the sultry teasing leaving her eyes, but she kept her posture seductive, kept her other hand roaming over his arm. To anyone else in the room, she appeared entirely sexual and focused only on him. “No, you’re sweet. He likes that about you. I’m talking about fucking him. You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”

Quentin closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. “Of course I have, I’m dating him. Why wouldn’t I think about it?”

“Some guys aren’t into it, is all. And you’re such a sweet puppy, I just didn’t really picture it.” Her hand left his chest to trace his lips. “But I may try to now. Maybe tonight.”

_ Bambi. Enough. _

The two words from Eliot were enough to make her take a step back, and Quentin didn’t dare look towards the bar as Margo ruffled his hair and walked away from him. He took a long drink from his glass, but almost choked when Margo responded.

_ Calm down, El. It’s not me he’s thinking of sticking his dick in. _

Quentin’s eyes cut to Eliot, but his gaze wasn’t returned. Eliot was still, his hands flat on the bar, but after a moment he reached for his glass, draining it before setting it aside. He tapped his fingers across the surface of the bar, looking adrift for a moment before someone Quentin was sure he’d never seen before approached the bar to request a drink. It was like watching a switch flip, the way Eliot’s smooth movements returned to him, his smile easy and casual as he started mixing another cocktail.

Suddenly feeling incredibly flustered and wondering how it had gotten so fucking hot in the room, Quentin pushed away from the wall, needing air. The threat of disappearing, the danger that lived in his skin, the fact that two people (even if he trusted one of them) could control him at any time, could always know where he was... and now the idea that  _ Eliot,  _ Eliot with his skilled hands and his filthy whispers and his intricately knotted ties, possibly got off on the fact of being fucked by  _ him, Quentin.  _

It was just too much.

Quentin drew the chilled air outside deep into his lungs as he stepped outside onto the patio, sidestepping a group of people just outside the door to walk onto the lawn. He dug into his pocket for his Camels, so glad he hadn’t had to ask Eliot for a Merit; they were so disgusting, and honestly made him question his boyfriend’s otherwise impeccable tastes when combined with his awful preference for the swill he called bourbon. 

He quickly lit the cigarette, taking a long pull from it and exhaling, his shoulders relaxing as he looked around at the people and decorations. There were about a dozen people milling around, but he noticed a familiar body perched alone on a bench, her shoulders drawn together and her head lowered. 

Alice.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Quentin walked towards her. He hadn’t seen her at all since before the ill-fated trivia night, and they’d left things very awkward after their tryst as foxes. “Hey, what are you doing over here by yourself?”

Alice startled a little, turning to look up at him, and his brow furrowed with concern as he noticed the moisture on her face. “O-Oh! Quentin.” Her fingers knitted together in her lap. “I, um, I just got here a-and the party seemed a little intense, so I thought I’d just take a minute before I went inside, is all.”

“In the library again?” he asked, trying for teasing. He wanted to make things right with Alice. She’d been nice to him before Mayakovsky had ruined everything. 

She smiled a bit at that, so it was something. “No. I actually went to visit my parents.” She sniffled. “It… didn’t really go well.”

“I’m sorry. Do you care if I sit?”

“Oh, not at all.” She scooted herself to make room for him and Quentin joined her on the concrete. “Just blow your smoke the other way, please.”

Quentin obeyed. “I should visit my dad, too. I did a few months ago, and I’ve called, but he’s starting to drop hints.”

“They do that, don’t they?” she laughed. “My mom, not so much, but I think my dad misses me sometimes.”

“Yeah, I don’t really hear from my mom either,” Quentin told her. “But that was a thing way before I got here.”

“You don’t get along?”

He shrugged. “We’re civil. She just really didn’t know how to deal with having anything other than a perfect kid, I guess. She’s happy now, since she left.”

“Well, my mom demands I call her Stephanie, and is horrified over her assumptions that I’m heterosexual and not interested in polyamory, so I may have you beat.”

Quentin laughed. “That… I mean, maybe.”

There was a moment of silence, almost comfortable, before Alice spoke. “I heard you’re dating Eliot.”

Quentin turned to look at her, but didn’t see anything negative in her expression, just total neutrality. “Um. Yeah. I am.”

A little smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “He’s very nice looking.”

Quentin laughed at that. “That is a statement that is true, yes.”

Alice giggled. “I just hope he’s nice. You deserve that, Quentin.”

“Th-Thanks. I, um, he is. Nice.”

“I bet he’s a  _ really  _ good kisser.”

Alice continued talking, but it fell deaf on Quentin’s ears as the anchor pulled inside him, and the knowledge of what he’d done, where he was, crashed upon him. Had he freaked Eliot out? 

_ No, Eliot would have said something first. _

It wasn’t Eliot. 

Quentin stood, tossing his cigarette from the ground, fully intending to perform each movement even as he fought it wildly against it within his brain. He thought he heard Alice’s questioning tone from behind him but he couldn’t focus on it. There was only the thunder of panic and the concrete knowledge he had somewhere to be. 

Alice was in front of him suddenly, looking concerned and on the edge of anger. “Quentin, if you don’t want to talk about it, all you have to do is say so.”

“Alice.” He struggled to think. “It’s… it’s a... I’m sorry. I want to talk to you but I have to go. I have to. Please get Eliot. Now.  _ Please.” _

Quentin felt a rush of relief as he heard Alice’s light footsteps take off running through the grass. But he kept walking away.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	21. One Way Or Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from song by Until the Ribbon Breaks, originally by Blondie.
> 
> Sorry, sorry, sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter! (Throws chapter and runs away.)

_ Eliot _

Eliot was almost certain Margo’s plan was actually working, though he had to wonder if it was wishful thinking, or even just a way to distract himself from all the unfamiliar emotions he’d found himself entangled in within the last hour. Or days. Or let’s be real, since September. He’d seen all the curious glances during Margo’s little scene with Quentin, had glanced appreciatively their way a time or two for added effect. The two of them made a beautiful picture together, just not one he was ready to live in quite yet. Feeling anything close to jealousy towards Margo had rocked him, though, and he’d had to put an end to it. And Bambi's little reassurance afterwards hadn’t helped steady him at all. 

“How’s your end of things?”

Eliot looked up from whatever void he’d been staring into to find Margo leaning across the bar towards him. “Everything’s fine. Ford is happy. There’s an orgy starting on the third floor, I heard. Success all around on my front. You?”

“I heard someone asking if we were bringing Q upstairs to join the festivities, so I’d say the ball is rolling. Sorry I got too handsy for you, though,” she added with a pout. 

“Are you?” he asked with a smirk, but took her hand. “Bambi, it’s not you. I trust you. It’s just…”

“Q’s only ever had what I’ve got, and you’d like a chance to win him over with your magic dick first?”

“Simply put… yes.”

“I know you, baby,” she purred, leaning close to run a fingernail down his cheekbone. “But that boy already wants your dick way more than he’s ever gonna want my clit. And know that I’ll still love you if you never wanna share, but if you leave out a  _ single  _ detail, I will cut a bitch.”

Eliot smiled through pursed lips. “Noted.”

He was just about to ask exactly what she and Quentin had talked about regarding dicks (his and Quentin’s specifically) when the front door flew open. Eliot’s eyes widened as Alice Quinn came rushing towards him, his mind wildly throwing together scenarios of some absurd pissing contest over Q before she reached to grab at him, pulling at his sleeve. “Quentin needs you, something’s wrong.”

Eliot felt a wave of cold pass through him. “Take me to him.” Alice nodded, pulling him after her towards the door, and he barely remembered to send out his own magic that would call Quentin to him as he followed. He thought he heard Margo cursing behind him, but couldn’t spare her any thought. Five fucking minutes of distraction had put Q in danger, and Eliot felt a rush of fury towards himself for even agreeing to host the fucking party. He could have invented a reason to cancel, could have fought Margo on it…  _ something. _

Alice came to a halt at the edge of the cottage’s yard and Eliot followed her line of sight until he spotted Quentin, standing in the large grassy area between the cottage and the tree line that led into the forest and past the wards. 

There was another figure standing just outside the darkness of the trees, barely more than fifty yards away from Quentin. He would have been lost to the shadows if it weren’t for the clear moonlight shining from above. Eliot felt his magic sharpen within him like knives, making his eyes brighten and his breath quicken. “Someone get Q,” he said, his voice sounding strangely calm to his own ears. 

Eliot has always been quietly athletic. Years of farm work had never been entirely erased by the lifestyle he’d adopted since. He didn’t have the lung capacity for sprinting these days, but he did have his magic to compensate, and he took off with a burst of speed towards the woods, his eyes watching for any movement from Mark, for any sign he’d run. He wanted to be close before he struck, but there was no way he’d let him go, either.

Eliot heard someone call out to him as he ran past Quentin’s paralyzed form, possibly Julia, and watched Mark throw up his hand to cast.

Eliot cast first with barely a flick of his fingers, coming to a stop at the same time, his eyes wild. The gesture hadn’t really been needed at all, because this  _ wanted  _ to happen, and he’d only had to give it freedom.

He watched the tears appear down the front of Mark’s shirt, quickly followed by three long lines of blood. It wasn’t like cutting paper at all, and Eliot wondered how deep his power had traveled into the flesh. As instinct gave way to something resembling thought, Eliot focused his intent on manipulating Mark closer to him, thinking he’d be able to restrain him until someone with more power and better spells could arrive. Crush him, maybe, until his ribs cracked, or--

But Mark disappeared.

Eliot whirled around, scanning the lawn, the trees, the shadows in between. He hurriedly made a frame of his fingers, glaring through them as he tried to think of what spell the man could have used because Mark Davidson wasn’t a Traveler. It had to be Illusion work, but without knowing the spell, Eliot couldn’t hope to undo it.

He saw Alice and Julia performing their own spells, glimpsed a group of on-lookers near the patio. Margo had settled Quentin down onto the lawn, her arm around his shoulders as he panted heavily.

_ “Fuck!” _ Eliot screamed, kicking at the grass. “Just…” He ran his fingers along the sides of his skull, clenching them together at the back of his head as he bared his teeth.

Julia dropped her hands. “I’ll send Penny to tell Fogg,” she said, taking off towards the cottage. 

Knowing there was nothing else to be done, Eliot forced himself to breathe deeply, pushing down the black fury that wanted to engulf him. He dropped his hands to his sides and walked to Quentin, kneeling on his other side. Mark’s command was still active and Quentin was a trembling mess under Margo’s arm, but he turned to press himself against Eliot’s chest, and Eliot gathered him close. 

“I’m sorry, Q. I tried. Maybe Fogg and the professors can do something, I don’t--”

“I forgot. I forgot for just a second, I’m sorry.” Eliot realized Quentin’s teeth were chattering. 

“Q, are you cold?”

He shook his head against Eliot’s waistcoat. “I-It’s like… like shock? It’s worse this time. God, it’s worse than when Penny Traveled me to Paris.”

“What’s the spell?”

Eliot turned, surprised to find Alice still there, her fingers hooked together over the waist of one of the ridiculous skirts she always wore. He’d honestly forgotten her entirely, his whole world within two feet of him as Margo rubbed circles across Quentin’s back. 

Eliot opened his mouth to speak, but Margo beat him to it. “It’s a modified anchor spell.”

Alice’s brow pulled down thoughtfully. “E-Even a standard anchor spell would be unethical if used on a person,” she said, settling down onto her knees across from them. “Anchor spells were designed to call animals, like stray cattle.”

“Yeah, well Q has two of them,” Margo said dryly, but her tone lacked its usual heat. 

“Two?”

“I, um, had to cast one,” Eliot told her. “As a… counter, I guess.”

“Oh. That would be what’s wrong with him, then. He’s probably still…” She glanced around before her eyes settled back on Eliot. “That was Mark Davidson, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” He wasn’t about to offer more information, but facts were facts. 

“Okay, well he’s probably still nearby.” She wet her lips. “When an anchor spell is cast by one party, the urgency in the target builds with distance. If  _ two  _ were active and both were commanding the target, it would work more like attracting magnetic fields, but in two directions. Inside Quentin.” She grimaced, looking at Quentin with concern.

“First, tell me this can’t fucking kill him, and then explain how the fucking proximity is making it worse,” Margo told Alice.

Alice shook her head. “I-I don’t think it can physically hurt him since the only force being applied is magical, but I can’t imagine what it must  _ feel _ like.”

“Like I’m fucking dying,” Quentin rasped. Eliot kneaded the back of his neck, not knowing any other way to comfort him. 

Eliot watched Alice’s frankly adorable face pucker with worry. “The magnet analogy doesn’t really work anyway when you involve Quentin because he doesn’t have a north or south. I guess the easiest way to explain it is the closer each anchor is, the stronger he feels that pulling.”

“Like right before two magnets slam together?” Margo asked.

Alice nodded. “Except he’s trying to slam in two different directions at the same time.”

“Fuck,” Margo whispered. “There’s nothing we can do?”

Alice shrugged. “N-Not really, except maybe knock him out?”

“Please, yes, do that, please,” Quentin whispered, his pleas falling over each other.

“Q, are you sure?” Eliot asked.

“Yes,  _ please.” _

Eliot placed a kiss on the top of Quentin’s head before nodding to Alice, who immediately leaned forward to whisper softly in Russian, placing her thumb in the center of Quentin’s forehead and tracing it down to the bridge of his nose.

Q went slack against him. 

Alice leaned back, looking at Quentin in almost a clinical way. “It will keep him under for six to eight hours, but it won’t negate the command, so he probably won’t rest well.”

“The last time it wore off after two hours, but if I didn’t just gut the motherfucker, he’ll probably try again. We’ll keep an eye on him. Um, thank you, by the way.”

She nodded, standing to her feet and looking towards the cottage. “It looks like someone put a stop to the viewing gallery, at least. I-I can clear the way for you, if you two want to carry him through the back door?”

“El can carry him,” Margo told her, standing to join Alice. “Let’s go.”

Eliot remembered how he’d felt mildly surprised by the amount of magical assistance he’d needed to levitate Quentin that night in the infirmary. He hadn’t known then that, while small, Q was quite dense. And now he was also unconscious. 

“Sorry, baby,” Eliot murmured against his hair, leaning Quentin back to rest on the grass. He wasn’t about to throw his own back out when Mark could show up for a rematch. He stood and levitated Quentin up from the ground towards his chest, curling his arms around his back and under his knees before letting him sink into a more natural position. It felt safer to manipulate Quentin this way instead of relying only on his telekinesis. 

When he reached the back door, he found Julia waiting for him. She didn’t panic at the sight of Quentin, so Eliot assumed she’d been informed of Alice’s spell. “Penny’s with Fogg now. Kady and I, uh, kind of told everyone a wanted fugitive was out on the lawn and cleared everyone out as much as we could. Kady didn’t ask questions about it. There’s still some people in the common room, but they’ll just think he got hurt.”

“He did get hurt,” Eliot murmured. 

“I know,” Julia said, her voice crackling more than it usually did. “Um, when Penny gets back he’s taking Kady and I to the safe house to meet with Marina. I’m done waiting for someone else to find this piece of shit. I honestly hope he’s bleeding out from whatever you threw at him out there.”

“Agreed, but I really have no idea. Text me?”

She nodded before stepping aside to allow Eliot to carry Quentin through the doorway. He ignored the eyes on him as he passed through the common room with Quentin in his arms to ascend the stairs. Margo was waiting in the entrance to his room and she held the door open for him, closing it and warding it as Eliot placed Quentin gently on the bed. 

“Did Julia talk to you about the hedge witch?” he asked, sliding Quentin’s shoes off and tossing them onto the floor.

“No, I was too busy trying to clear the place the fuck out, some of them didn’t get the message the first time,” she said heatedly but she kept her voice lowered, as if the volume could wake Quentin. 

Eliot unbuttoned Q’s jeans, lowering the zipper and working the fabric down his legs. “She’s taking Penny and Kady to talk to Marina.” The jeans joined the shoes and Eliot started on his shirt, his movements careful and methodical, because there was nothing sexy about undressing the man in this moment.

“I hope that doesn’t fuck us.” Margo rested her hands on the edge of the bed as Eliot maneuvered Quentin with both hands and magic to remove his shirt before tucking him under the comforter. 

“It could, but I understand. This can’t keep happening. I know no one is dragging their feet, and I know this is bigger than Q, but… Margo, I fucking  _ had  _ him.”

“El, he’s a Master magician. That disappearing act could have been some more of that Bayati cunt’s work. You got Q back, that’s what matters.”

Eliot angrily pulled at the knots of his tie, yanking it from his neck and letting it fall to the floor. “I’m done downstairs until this is over,” he told her, his gaze direct, daring her to argue with him as he unfastened his waistcoat. 

Margo nodded, her lip trembling a little. Eliot’s gaze softened, but didn’t waver. “I’m not blaming you, don’t think that. I wanted to avoid anyone invading his privacy, but his fucking safety has to come first. As for the rest of it, I honestly don’t give a fuck, I’m sorry.” His fingers absently worked down the front of his shirt and he shrugged both layers off, his shoes, pants and socks joining the pile until he was standing in his underwear. “Are you staying?” he asked tiredly.

She looked down to the mattress. “If you want.”

Eliot sighed quietly, rounding the end of the bed to pull her into his arms. “Of course I do.” He pulled away enough to look down at her. “Do you care if I take a nap? I’ll give you my phone in case Julia texts me, but I need to be awake if it gets activated again later.”

“Yeah, get in the middle. I wanna chain smoke for the next two hours, so I’ll take the edge.” 

Eliot pressed his lips to her forehead before climbing under the blankets and facing Quentin’s lax form, watching his lips and eyelids twitch, the only indication that the command was still affecting him. He listened to Margo undress behind him and heard her rooting through his dresser for something more comfortable for bed before she took a seat behind him to lean against the headboard. He heard the snap of her lighting a cigarette, felt her hand caressing his shoulder as he closed his eyes and drifted off.

*

_ Julia _

Julia steadied herself on her feet as she arrived in the front room of Marina’s safehouse, Penny’s hand lingering on hers before he released it. She was a little surprised Marina had agreed to a meeting when Julia had offered so little detail as to why she needed to speak to her immediately. Marina probably assumed she could get more spells out of it, and Julia had already decided she’d offer anything she knew if it meant locating Davidson.

Hearing the slide of a chair, Julia turned to see Pete standing near a door that led deeper into the safe house. “Marina’s on her way, she’s just making sure we won’t be interrupted.” He gestured to a scarred table near the corner with mismatched chairs, and Julia went to take a seat. Kady joined her, with Penny choosing to pace behind them instead.

Marina appeared moments later, striding towards the table and taking a seat across from them. “I’ll admit, I’m dying to know what three Brakebills students need from me this late at night. I know you all have more drugs than we do.”

“Mark Davidson,” Julia told her, unwilling to draw anything out or play any games. She saw Pete leaving his position near the door to walk closer to the table, his interest obviously piqued. 

“What about him?’ Marina asked with a tilt of her head.

“I want to know why he was here the other night. Is he here often?”

Marina shrugged, her brow furrowing. “I mean, he comes by. One of my people deals him coke and he pays with high-level spells. Sometimes he stays for a while, but usually he’s in and out.”

“Can you get him here?”

“Why would I do that? What do you want with him, anyway? He doesn’t know anything you don’t have access to.”

“I need him here so Penny can Travel him to Brakebills and have him locked up.”

Marina blinked at that, her curiosity clear in her eyes, but then she laughed. “Not a chance, sweetie. Whatever you’re messed up in, you’re not dragging me in with you. Deal with your shit on your own turf.”

“My  _ shit  _ happened on  _ your  _ turf,” Julia snapped, slamming the palm of her hand against the table. Marina pulled an impressed face. “Or do you not give a fuck what he does as long as you get what you want?”

Marina appeared affronted by the accusation. “I barely know the man. I think he started coming around like a year ago, before Trejo niffined out. They were fucking, I think. He just kept coming after that.”

“He was seeing someone here?” Penny asked.

“I saw them together a few times, coming and going,” Pete spoke up. “I don’t think they were dating; Trejo wouldn’t really talk about it. I assumed he was having trouble coming out of the closet.” He shrugged. “It might have ended badly. It wasn’t long after that he started disappearing.” Marina nodded absently, appearing to recall. “For a while, he was here every day, and then he’d be gone for days at a time, sometimes a week or more. He looked strung out and he started trying to learn shit way beyond him. One of the others watched him go; she couldn’t get to him in time.”

“Do you know what he was trying to cast?” Julia asked.

Marina shook her head, looking slightly confused by the shift in Julia’s interest. “It was a bunch of low-level spells. I keep things locked up tight around here to avoid shitshows like that. He’d learned it all, but he’d tried to combine a bunch of it together. It was messy, even for him. Warding spells, shields, paralysis. None of it made any fucking sense.”

“Oh, my God,” Julia whispered. Kady looked at her with concern and confusion warring in her eyes, but she barely noticed, her gaze directed at Marina. “He was doing it right under your nose.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He has access to this spell. He uses sex magic to implant an anchor into someone.” Marina’s eyes widened briefly at that. “They have no free will when he activates it, they just  _ go  _ to him. We’re looking for him because we can’t figure out how to remove it. We’ve found other people he’s cast it on, but they’re not giving us answers we need.” Julia felt it was safer not to mention the involvement of any authorities or their failed interviews, not if she wanted Marina’s cooperation. “But I know he comes here, and Mark did this to my  _ friend,  _ under  _ your  _ roof.” 

Kady leaned back in her chair with a grunt while Marina blinked rapidly at Julia. “You mean the guy you brought with you last time? Cute but in a morose way? Is he okay?”

“No, he’s not fucking okay,” Penny almost shouted. “He had to have a second anchor put in just to keep him on campus and any time they’re activated, it’s like he’s being ripped in half. His wards just drop and it’s like hearing fucking static that learned to scream until the shit wears off. Like it’s not enough to be fucking raped, you gotta walk straight towards the motherfucker who did it to you?”

Julia exhaled shakily, tears springing to her eyes. Penny hadn’t said anything before about what he’d gleaned from Q’s thoughts, but it was clear now how much it was affecting him. 

“Holy fuck,” Marina sighed, her hand shaking slightly as she lifted a cigarette from the open pack on the table and sparked it to light between her lips. “Well, it’s my fucking problem now, I guess. But I don’t know how much I can help.”

“Can you just let us know the next time he’s here?” Julia asked. “Penny can Travel in and grab him. He can pop right back out. You wouldn’t have to deal with anything. All we need is a location.”

Marina’s mouth set in a thin line, but after a moment she nodded. “Fine. But if you fuck up and put a target on my back, you’ll regret it. I don’t know much about him, but he knows people. He drops names like a D-list celebrity on a shitty reality show. And I know people, too.”

“We won’t fuck it up,” Julia promised. 

  
  
  
  
  



	22. Fire Meet Gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from song by Sia.
> 
> Good morning! I'm about to start another brain numbing day of working from home, so yay. I did a thing, though, for any of you that do like playlists. I made a spoiler-free version of the playlist I used to write this. It only contains songs for posted chapters. It's on Spotify, titled "TROEW for AO3" if anyone is interested. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! Out of all of them, it took the longest for me to write. I sent many sobbing gifs to my best friend during the 3 days it took to get it where I wanted it. She's the best baby-sitter.

_ Alice _

Alice had spent her remaining time awake after the party arranging facts and hypotheticals within her mind, until they were formed into something resembling a plan for how best to move forward. 

She’d missed Quentin’s a bit, since they’d returned from Brakebills South. While he’d been little more than an annoyance to her at first, someone who frankly almost made her cringe with his open sincerity and acute naivete regarding the world of magic, she’d grown to like him at least a little before they’d migrated south. 

And she didn’t regret their time as foxes. She’d felt nothing but freedom and delight, which was so outside her previous experiences with sex that she’d been startled by it. She hadn’t been foolish enough to believe those feelings had anything to do with Quentin’s involvement, though. It could have been anyone; anything positive she’d experienced had resulted from letting herself go, letting herself  _ be.  _ Which was so much easier when you weren’t actually yourself. 

She’d firmly separated herself from Quentin once they’d returned to Brakebills, trying to silently communicate that just because he’d been inside her didn’t give him any new privileges, didn’t mean anything beyond their time in the howling snow. She’d squirmed under a few wounded stares from him in those first days back in class and had bit her cheek to hide her annoyance when the looks had turned disappointed and mildly sullen. Then, they had disappeared altogether.

She’d thrown herself into researching truth and secrets magic, trying to chase this newly discovered part of herself, this person who suddenly noticed that people had faces that did interesting things, and bodies that moved in fascinating ways. When eyes skimmed over her, she found herself sometimes wondering which way those bodies might move against her own. (But to be honest, she mostly wrinkled her nose and hurriedly walked away. She had standards, after all.)

She’d honestly forgotten about Quentin for the most part, and had been willing to let go of the friendship that might have occurred between them, because the concept of friendship was something Alice found unsettling. She’d occasionally glimpsed him in the common room on her way upstairs to her room, laughing with Eliot or Margo or studying with Julia. She’d thought of stopping more than once, initiating conversation, but casual topics had never been her strong suit, and she hated the way Margo and Eliot’s cool, assessing glances could make her feel like a little girl playing dress up in her mother’s clothes. And yet they treated Quentin like some rare, treasured prize.

Then, Quentin had disappeared from classes. The first day it hadn’t concerned her at all, people did that sometimes, and at least two of his friends did it quite often. But she hadn’t spied any of them downstairs that afternoon. Or the next. She heard days later that Eliot had been excused from classes for the time being, and had grown concerned. She’d wondered if they’d botched a spell of some sort, if they’d injured themselves. She’d started finding excuses to leave her room more often, hoping to run into Quentin, but had never seen him.

Then, she’d heard the snatches of conversation from the other residents of the cottage. She’d never paid attention before, never understood the interest people possessed in questioning the private lives of others. She’d learned Quentin and Eliot hadn’t been absent from the cottage, just… sequestered away. Together, apparently. And when they  _ had  _ been seen again, Alice had quickly grown annoyed by the gossip she heard every time she needed a book from the cottage library or had gone to the kitchen to grab a soda or muffin, like a constant din of pettiness that grew worse every time she ventured downstairs, or to the campus library, or sometimes even during her damn classes.

_ (“He didn’t even look at him. I mean, it was three weeks ago, but…”) _

_ (“He didn’t show. Heard he’s babysitting Coldwater for some reason.”) _

_ (“Maisie saw them making out upstairs.”) _

_ (“He deleted his Snap?”) _

_ (“Dating. Fucking dating.”) _

_ (“Give it a week, he must have had a bad trip.”) _

It had answered a question for Alice, but not the right one. None of it had explained why Eliot and Quentin weren’t in class. 

She had the answer now, however. And maybe she could even help.

It took nothing to infer that Quentin had been victimized by Mark Davidson. Whether the sex magic had been consensual or not (and seeing the absolute terror in Quentin’s eyes the night before, she had to guess probably not), any kind of mind-control was seriously taboo in the magical world. Even in cases of controlling single-celled organisms, there were discussions regarding ethics. For the last few decades, at least.

The next morning, Alice was confident she had her thoughts organized well enough to act. She left the cottage early to make the long walk down to the pay phone and dialed her home phone number, biting her lip as she hoped her mother was still sleeping.

“Good morning, Alice,” her father answered, and she almost sighed with relief. “I didn’t expect to be hearing from you so soon.”

“Hi, Dad. I’m not calling about Mom. I was actually hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“Sweetie, I’m not sure your mother would appreciate me answering questions about Charlie when--”

“It’s not about Charlie,” Alice interrupted, wanting to snap but not allowing herself to. She couldn’t allow the fight with her mother last night to get in her way. “There was an… incident last night. I saw Mark Davidson. I’ve seen him at the house before. Do you know him very well?”

“Oh, Mark? We have mutual acquaintances, sure. He enjoys our little fetes and we’ve spoken several times. He was on campus last night?”

“Y-Yes. I found out that he, um, put a very negative spell on a friend of mine. There was a fight, but Mark got away. I was just wondering if you knew him well enough to tell me where he might be.”

“Oh, Alice, you don’t want to get involved in anything like that,” her father told her. “It’s best to let these things resolve on their own.”

“Dad, I’m not talking about Olifea’s Eternal Hives here, I’m talking about mind control.”

Daniel took a beat before speaking. “You believe Mark put a mind control spell on your friend?”

“I  _ know  _ he did. I watched it happen. And it’s still active.”

She heard her father sigh before he spoke again. “I will admit, I’ve heard things about Mark’s… indulgences. Hearsay, nothing more. He was always well behaved at our gatherings, though.”

“Do you know where he works, or maybe where he lives? Anything would be helpful.”

“I don’t, Alice, I’m sorry.”

“Could you possibly find out?”

There was a lengthy pause. “I can follow a few avenues and see what they turn up, I suppose. I can leave you a message to call if I find anything.”

“I think I’m actually going to turn my cell on? I know it’s against the rules and all, but this is important. Thank you, Dad.”

“It’s no problem,” he assured her.

*

Eliot was having his morning cigarette, still reclined in bed between Margo and Quentin, his head resting against Margo’s arm as she filled him in on the texts Julia had sent the night before. She’d let him sleep through the night and now she looked exhausted.

Eliot didn’t feel much better. The rage he’d felt the night before had burned to ash, leaving him feeling weak and  _ so _ goddamn tired. “Do you really think the hedge bitch will tell Julia if he shows there?” he asked, pitching his voice low so as not to wake Quentin. 

“I’m hoping the fact he drove one of hers to fucking kill himself helps sway her, but no, I’m not convinced.”

Eliot turned his head when he felt movement against his side, and watched Quentin prop himself up on his arm, his eyes barely open. He blinked several times, taking in Eliot and Margo. “Hey.”

“‘Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Margo greeted him. “Get any rest?”

“Um. I guess.” Eliot reached to smooth the furrow of his brow, and Quentin smiled softly at him, but it didn’t touch his eyes. They were blank, deliberately so, causing a tendril of worry to curl in Eliot’s chest. “What time is it?”

Margo was still holding Eliot’s phone and quickly swiped at the screen to activate it. “Just after seven-thirty.”

Quentin nodded, his expression blank. “Um. Did I hear you talking about hedges?”

Eliot’s fingers swept Quentin’s hair from his face, but there was no soft smile, no reaction at all. “Julia met with Marina last night. She’s supposed to let us know if Mark shows at the safehouse again. Penny can grab him there, but we don’t know how long it might be before we hear anything,” he explained.

Quentin just nodded again, and Eliot moved his free hand towards Margo, gesturing for her to take his cigarette before she plucked it from his fingers.

He’d seen Quentin sink into depression before, but this dull mask he was presenting for them now was something new. Quentin could easily get lost within his darker thoughts, but he’d never actively hidden his feelings. Eliot hadn’t really believed him capable of it. 

“Q, what sounds good for breakfast?” Margo asked, and Eliot could hear the barely concealed concern in her voice. He felt a fraction of relief in knowing he wasn’t imagining this.

A brief flash of disgust flared in Quentin’s eyes before he reigned it in. “I… I think I’m just really tired?”

“Okay,” Margo replied in an easy way. “Well, I’m starving. If you change your mind, I’ll bring you something up, okay?”

“Y-Yeah. Thanks.” Q’s voice was barely a whisper as he settled back down against his pillow. Margo threw a worried look at Eliot as she stepped onto the floor, starting one of their own telepathic conversations, with which no spellwork was required, only their deep knowledge of one another. Words were difficult for both of them, but they’d always been brilliant with communicating with one another in other ways. 

With little more than a few gestures and expressions, it was decided Margo would leave Eliot to try coaxing Quentin out of whatever black pit he’d fallen into, and she looked Quentin over with worry before picking her clothes and shoes off the floor and leaving the room. 

Quentin was staring vacantly at nothing as Eliot settled onto his side next to him, leaving them face to face. A bit of life returned to his eyes when they met with Eliot’s, but that small window only showed Eliot an anguish that gutted him. 

Eliot didn’t know how to start, wasn’t sure what to say, so he used touch instead because it rarely failed him. He combed Quentin’s hair from his face and brushed his thumb over the small scar on his chin, focusing on the faint pink line of healing flesh that interrupted the stubble visible around it. 

“El? Would you kiss me?”

Eliot’s eyes met Quentin’s and he smiled gently. “Of course I will,” he said, moving closer to capture Quentin’s lips with his own, barely brushing their mouths together. He cradled his jaw gently in his fingers, careful not to initiate anything more. When he started to pull away after a few moments to try to find the words to speak, he felt Quentin’s hand on his side, a silent request to stay. It worried him, that Quentin might be looking for a way to escape his pain, to replace it with something else. Eliot had done it himself enough times, desperate for anything to make it all stop. 

But Quentin didn’t try for more, and their kisses remained tender and slow, sending gentle little arcs of electricity through Eliot’s nerve endings with each delicate touch. As the minutes passed his thoughts fell silent, waiting for the next shiver to move through him, chasing it with the lightest touches of his lips and tongue against Quentin’s. It left him feeling almost drugged, but if drugs had ever felt his way, he’d have long since died.

He was pulled from his haze by the distinct feeling of moisture against his face, and released Quentin’s lips to pull away, finding his eyes swimming in a heavy veil of tears, his brows drawn together in a way that looked painful. 

“Will you please talk to me?” Eliot pleaded, trying to brush some of the tears from Quentin’s face, but more fell to replace them.

Quentin sniffed, his eyes cast down. “It’s just. Last night. I couldn’t really think about any of it then, through the spells… But when he figured it out. That he couldn’t make me go with him, he said some stuff before you got there. I just… I couldn’t process it, with everything. I couldn’t think.” Another sniffle. “But… he said it didn’t matter. H-He said I was  _ spoken  _ for. I didn’t understand. I was already, like, fritzing out at that point.”

Sensing Quentin’s rising anxiety, Eliot reached for his hand, pressing his fingers to knead the muscle, listening as Quentin sighed before he continued.

“He told me that he’ll send someone else to-to  _ collect  _ me. That no one will know until I’m already gone.”

A cold dread weighed in Eliot’s chest, and he grasped at Quentin’s arm, needing to hold him there, as if someone were already coming to steal him away. “That’s not going to happen,” he promised.

Quentin’s eyes met his, glassy and nearly frantic. “El, you don’t  _ know  _ that. We don’t know  _ anything.” _

“Shh, shh, shh.” Eliot moved to press his lips to Quentin’s wrinkled brow, drawing away again to look him in the eye. “No one is letting someone walk in here and take you. We can go right now and have an anti-Traveling spell put on you, and--”

“Great,  _ more  _ fucking spells,” Q laughed darkly.

“We can move you to a Clean room, then,” Eliot told him. “I can stay there, too. No one is  _ taking  _ you.”

Quentin looked at him deeply before tearing his eyes away. “I… I don’t even know why you’re still here.”

Eliot stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Quentin rolled onto his back, dragging his hands down his face. “I just… I don’t understand why you’re putting yourself through this. It’s not fair to you. Any of this.”

Eliot felt like a thundercloud had rolled into the room, brought on by the heaviness of Quentin’s words. A sudden chill filled him, hard to ignore. “Q, I… I’m here because I want to be. Fair doesn’t really factor for either of us.” He felt uncertain suddenly as he reached for Quentin’s hand again, and hated it. 

“I just mean.” Quentin wet his lips. “I-It’s not like I’ve really ever dated anyone, but it’s not supposed to be like this. I’m in your face 24 hours a day because it’s not safe anywhere else, a-and even in the five fucking minutes you get to yourself a day, you have to know exactly where I am. And it’s just going to get worse now. And I feel so fucking selfish because I didn’t really think about it until you hurt him last night. You could have killed him. Fuck, we don’t know, what if you  _ did?  _ I’ve let you put that on yourself, and it’s not fucking fair. This isn’t your fight, Eliot.”

Eliot felt like all the air vanished from the room as he watched Quentin refuse to look at him, his fingers limp within his own. “It’s not?” His voice sounded strained and weak to his own ears. 

Quentin turned to look at him, and the pain and regret Eliot saw reflected there clawed at his insides. “Quentin, don’t  _ do _ this,” he pleaded before he could stop himself.

“Eliot, what am I  _ supposed  _ to do? I’ve already made you take care of me and exhaust yourself doing it. You’re missing class, you’re missing your  _ life.  _ I’m not going to make you a murderer, too. Not if I haven’t already.”

The anger that flared at those words felt much better than the bloom of desperation that was unfolding within him, and Eliot grasped at it greedily.

“You  _ made  _ me do all of that? I wasn’t aware,” he said coldly, all the trappings of his so recently unneeded defensive mechanisms sliding over him again like fine silk. It felt like his own luxury suite in hell, but it was better than the alternative: falling the fuck apart, sobbing and pleading with Quentin not to leave him. 

Quentin’s eyes narrowed, but there was no heat in them. He only looked tired. “Don’t do that,” he sighed. “I was just… I’m just trying to give you a choice here, to--”

“Oh, I get a choice  _ now?”  _ Eliot snapped, sitting up and releasing Quentin’s hand. “Thanks  _ so  _ much for that.”

_ “Eliot.” _

_ “Quentin,”  _ he threw back viciously, refusing to look at him as he rested his elbows against his knees. “You are so fucking absurd sometimes. You didn’t force me to care, I haven’t been  _ suffering _ through your company. Little known fact: I’m a selfish asshole, and you don’t make my choices for me. I’m completely capable of understanding I have free will, and I  _ hope  _ I killed him with it. The thought brings me  _ joy,  _ because that’s who I am. I care about so fucking little, but when I do, this is  _ how _ I do it. If that makes me someone you want to walk away from, feel the fuck free to do so, but don’t you  _ dare  _ act like you’re doing me a favor for it, not when you spent the past ten minutes already telling me good-bye.”

Eliot fell against the bed, facing away from Quentin, holding himself rigid as he waited for him to leave. He could hold himself together long enough for that, just long enough for the bed to shift, for the door to close. 

Something shattered in his bathroom, and he flinched before shuddering against the building pressure of the tears climbing up from his gut. Quentin moved behind him and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Just a  _ few  _ more moments. He would make it.

Then he felt Quentin’s hand slide over his hip, Quentin’s lips whisper across the back of his neck. He immediately went limp, an injured cry escaping him before he slammed his lips shut, humiliated. He felt Quentin pull at him, wanting him to turn around but Eliot couldn’t face him, so he grabbed his hand instead, pulling it around him, holding it to his chest in a bruising grip.

“I’m sorry,” Quentin whispered between kisses, his lips traveling across his shoulder. Eliot’s breath stuttered in and out as tears leaked from his eyes. 

“For what?” His voice sounded like a rusty hinge, and Eliot did his best to glare at himself for it.

“For being an asshole?” Quentin tried, and Eliot relaxed further against him. 

“You’re the  _ biggest  _ fucking asshole.”

“I know, El. I’m just… I’m so fucking terrified with everything that’s happening, but... I think I’m more scared you’re going to end up resenting me. I-I thought I could just… salvage something before that happened. Try to, anyway.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, because for the love of God, what the fuck? He shifted himself around until he was facing Quentin again, but it was still difficult to look at him. “So, I take it we’re not breaking up, then?”

Quentin huffed out a pained little laugh, barely audible. “Not unless you want to.”

“I think I’ve made my opinion clear, so we’ll move on.” He kept his tone even, though his voice was wrecked, and forced his eyes onto Quentin’s. “I don’t know who made you believe you are to blame for everything that happens to you, but I’m going to need you to work on that, okay?”

Quentin said nothing, so Eliot continued. “Life can be fucking miserable. For years I didn’t know it could be anything else. And I also know you have the added bonus of depression, which I frankly can’t imagine trying to deal with in the middle of all this, even if I’ve flirted with it occasionally myself. But… I don’t know if you can know how hard it was for me,  _ is  _ for me, to even attempt to let you in. What you almost just did was like getting slapped in the face for even fucking trying to, and I grew tired of that a long time ago, Q.”

Seeing he’d brought fresh tears to Quentin’s eyes, Eliot sighed and cupped his face. “I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. You need to hear it.” Quentin nodded, urging Eliot to go on. “You didn’t get yourself raped. That’s not a thing. You didn’t barge down my door begging me to take care of you. You  _ hid  _ from me. You didn’t ask me to stay here with you and get excused from class, or have all these goddamned spells cast on you to make you malfunction. The only things I can really remember you asking me for since this all started was to get you high and kiss you, and I think that’s pretty standard boyfriend shit.” Eliot saw the hint of a smile on Q’s lips. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Quentin let out a choked gasp (and Eliot fleetingly thought they might be on even ground now as far embarrassing emotional noises went), shaking his head against the pillow. “I don’t want to.”

“Then come here.”

Quentin came to him, and Eliot moved to bring him closer as their lips met, moved to hold his neck the way he liked,  _ meant  _ to maneuver himself up and over so he could kiss Quentin bruisingly, because he was still pissed off.

Quentin obviously had other ideas, however, squirming awkwardly as he pushed himself up faster than Eliot could manage, pulling at his lower lip with a wet eagerness that made Eliot hum in surprise. He felt his hand removed from its rightful place and then Quentin was pushing  _ him  _ down, and  _ okay.  _

It wasn’t rushed or frantic, just  _ intentional  _ as Quentin pulled on his mouth before licking his way inside, his teeth scraping against Eliot’s lips as he very purposefully fucked Eliot’s mouth with his tongue. The strange haze he’d been enveloped in before everything had almost crumbled to dust in his hands returned tenfold, and Eliot’s thoughts were filled with ridiculous words like  _ enraptured, sublime, euphoric  _ and  _ pleaseGodfuckmeQuentin.  _

Quentin left Eliot’s lips bereft and sore as he drew away, looking down at him with open adoration, the curtains of his hair framing his face. Eliot watched, dazed, as he bit his already swollen lip near the corner, letting it roll from under his teeth, like he was puzzling out a very complicated math problem that he also wanted to fuck. “El, I wanna touch you.”

Eliot only panted up at him until it became somewhat clear that Quentin was expecting a response. “I mean… yeah? If you’re, if you want. You sure?” 

Quentin nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and wetting his lips anxiously though his eyes weren’t anxious at all. They were all harlot. “I’m probably going to fuck it up, but yeah.”

And then Quentin fucking Coldwater  _ straddled _ him, and Eliot heard what definitely sounded like a scared little giggle leave his throat.  _ Oh, fuck me. _

Quentin immediately bent to work, though, kissing Eliot’s bruised lips as his thumbs brushed the sides of his jaw before one disappeared, and Eliot gave a startled gasp when he felt Q’s fingers carefully graze his nipple.

“Good?” he murmured against Eliot’s mouth.

“Baby… just… you do you, okay? I’ll let you know if it’s not.”

“Okay,” he said, so simply and submissively, so eager to please that Eliot wanted to ask him if he really had not clued in to the role reversal currently happening in this bed that was entirely his doing.

Quentin sat up slightly, squirming again, and then his tongue followed where his fingers had been, pressing against Eliot’s nipple. Eliot moaned quietly, his shoulders rising from the mattress and his hands moving to comb through Quentin’s hair. Taking the encouragement, Q sucked it into his mouth and flicked his tongue. “Fuck, Q.”

Quentin made a satisfied little hum in return before lifting away and sitting up, and Eliot watched him inwardly puzzle over something again before he looked to Eliot’s face. “Would you get naked?”

Eliot grunted in disbelief but was already nodding enthusiastically. Before he could do anything, however, Quentin’s hands were sliding inside the waist of his briefs and he moved to Eliot’s side to pull them off, careful not to catch them on his already painful erection. 

“Holy  _ fuck,”  _ he heard Quentin breathe, and this was always the point where Eliot usually laughed to ease the anxiety of a suddenly overwhelmed partner, but Q was tugging at his fingers. “Sit up,” he breathed. Eliot looked at him curiously but complied, vaguely bewildered as Quentin started to push and pull at his shoulders, looking increasingly frustrated but still very intent.

“Q, what are you trying to do? Let me help.”

“I just, I was thinking I wanna touch you, but I also want to kiss you, and I really need you to play with my hair too, I think.”

Eliot smiled, open-mouthed. “I think we can arrange that.” He backed himself up closer to the headboard, and a wicked thought occurred to him as he reached his hand out. “Now, come sit in Daddy’s lap.”

Quentin’s lips instantly twisted in annoyance. “How long were you waiting to say that?”

Eliot tilted his head. “It actually  _ just _ came to mind. Seriously, Q, this will work best.”

Quentin sighed heavily, but his eagerness to crawl right into Eliot’s lap anyway made him think he could probably get away with it another time or two in the future. Once Quentin was settled, Eliot drew his legs in to help support him before giving him a teasing smile. “You may continue.”

Quentin gave him a scolding look, but leaned in to kiss him sweetly, delicate touches that slowly built back up to the heat of before, until Quentin’s hands were framing the base of Eliot’s throat and Eliot’s hands were clenching in Quentin’s hair and they weren’t even kissing anymore, just gasping against each other’s mouth and occasionally licking at lips and tongues.

When Eliot felt Quentin’s hand encircle him, his eyes went wide with surprise. He’d expected a timid, hesitant touch at first, but he’d gripped firm and was already pumping him slowly. “Baby, that’s  _ lovely _ .”

Quentin only moaned against his mouth in response, and Eliot took the opportunity to tug on his lip with his teeth. Quentin bit back gently, his hand working between them, and Eliot bucked when he pressed his thumb under the head of his cock.  _ “Q.” _

“Mm. My hair, El.”

Eliot’s hands were already in Quentin’s hair, had been, and it was honestly a mess. But he’d been building a catalogue in the last two weeks of everything Quentin seemed to enjoy, and it wasn’t hard to figure out what he was asking for. Eliot moved his right hand to the back of Quentin’s head and fisted it in his fingers, pulling gently, just a test. But Quentin leaned into it, his hand tightening on Eliot’s cock. 

Eliot pulled harder and Quentin cried out. “That good, baby?”

“Yes, El, please.”

_ God, you were made for me,  _ Eliot thought as he nipped at Q’s chin, his other hand untangling itself from Quentin’s hair to hold his throat, just firm enough for contact. “This?” Eliot asked.

_ “Nnngh.” _

Eliot applied more pressure, biting his lip. “Answer me, Quentin.”

_ “Yes, Eliot, fuck.” _

“Good boy. Now make me come.”

“T-Tell me how,” Quentin whispered.

“You’re doing such a good job already, baby, don’t worry about that.”

“Would… would you maybe touch me, too?”

Eliot blinked, pulling away enough to study Quentin’s face. “I will if you don’t get bitchy when I check in with you.”

Quentin nodded eagerly, the rhythm of his hand slowing slightly as he started reaching inside his boxers. Eliot laughed, batting his hand away. “Let me do my job, Coldwater. Focus.” And Eliot’s eyes rolled when Quentin  _ squeezed _ his hand up his length.  _ Brat. _

Eliot ignored the strange nervousness he felt as he pulled down the elastic at the front of Quentin’s boxers, pulling his cock free. His mouth watered at the sight because it was just as pretty and perfectly masculine as the man it was attached to, and he wrapped his hand around it, living in the broken moan that sounded through the room as Quentin tipped his head back to expose his flushed throat. 

But then Quentin was kissing him again, feverishly, leaving Eliot struggling to keep up until he pulled Quentin back by his hair again, forcing him to slow. Quentin sobbed against his mouth as he obeyed and Eliot’s cock twitched, leaking. Quentin took advantage, running his palm over the head and spreading the pre-come down before squeezing back up, his thumb pressing again near the tip like the goddamn magician he was. “Q, yes, like that, like that.  _ Fuck.” _

Eliot was practiced in dual focus, and kept his hand moving over Quentin’s cock, alternating between firm pulls and light, teasing slides of his fingers as his own breaths grew short and quick. He wanted to thrust into Quentin’s hand but didn’t have the leverage.

The world whited out as Quentin moved his hand to the base of his cock and tugged upwards, his palm flattening and sliding up before curling his fingers back in below the head, dragging tortuously back down and  _ there, yes. _

A choked cry escaped Eliot’s lips as he came, his head tilting back as Q pumped him steadily through it, only gentling his touch when Eliot became aware enough again to pull him closer and kiss him tenderly.

With renewed focus, he nipped at Quentin’s mouth. “Let me do something,” he said softly, his hand still moving. 

“Anything, El.”

“Never tell me that,” Eliot warned. “Just… Do you trust me? It’s magic.”

Quentin pulled away from Eliot’s lips, and he was so beautifully flushed, so kiss-swollen and fucked out that Eliot wanted to cry. 

“I trust you, yeah,” he whispered. Eliot removed his hand from Quentin, and released his control, just a little, just enough. 

Quentin moved, lifting up and away from him, and Eliot felt relief when he only looked slightly startled before he smiled. Eliot gently laid him back against the bed before his body took over again, crawling up Quentin’s prone form and framing his hips between his knees. “Okay?” he asked as he knelt to nudge Q’s nose with his own.

Quentin laughed. “The things you could do with  _ that.” _

“Oh, I have a vision board. But I never have, not for this anyway.”

The tender look Quentin gave him was worth the confession, but there was glint in his eye as he locked his arms around Eliot’s neck. “Well, you’ll have to add me on Pinterest, because I’m already  _ into _ it.”

“You’re such a fucking  _ nerd,”  _ Eliot purred, play-biting at his nose as he gripped his cock again, smiling wickedly when Quentin’s laugh turned into a shout and his hips lifted from the bed. 

“Show me how you fuck, Q, let me feel you,” Eliot whispered, and Quentin whined as he began moving his hips in earnest, pulling Eliot down and shoving his tongue in his mouth, filling his hands with Eliot’s hair as Eliot gripped him tightly. 

He came with a growl seconds later that almost caught the attention of Eliot’s dick again, gasping for air as his fingers twitched across Eliot’s scalp until he slowly calmed, sinking against the bed again. “Oh, my God.”

Eliot grinned, kissing Quentin one more time before straightening and performing a simple series of tuts that removed their collective come from everything. He fell to Quentin’s side and pulled him close again. “So. For someone who was just  _ curious _ a few minutes ago, where did you learn to give a handjob like that?”

Quentin blushed even brighter, his eyes darting around Eliot’s face. “You, um, said ‘you do you.’ So I… did.”

Eliot sighed out a laugh. “Well, now I’m watching you jerk off at least once a week, indefinitely.” He pressed a kiss to Quentin’s forehead. “How do you feel now that you’ve asked me for three whole things?”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Actually, I was remembering at one point that I’ve asked you for four.”

“When?”

“A few days ago, I specifically asked you not to burn my grilled cheese.” Eliot scrambled to sit up, looking down at Quentin incredulously. “What?” he laughed.

“Do you really not see what a brat you are?” 

Quentin shook his head, his teeth digging into his lip. 

“You  _ really  _ don’t?”

“Nope.”

  
  
  



	23. The Power To Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Man or a Monster" by Sam Tinnesz and Zayde Wolf.

_ Margo _

Margo looked longingly at her bed as she entered her room, letting her dress and shoes fall to the floor for the time being. She knew she needed to sleep, but everything just  _ kept  _ happening, and now Quentin just seemed… broken. It wasn’t the depression she’d witnessed before; she could easily manhandle a stinking, greasy, snapping Quentin Coldwater any day, could force him to shower and to change his clothes and pull him from his bed to take a lap outside so his muscles didn’t atrophy from staying curled up around a book. She’d always left the touchy-feely parts for Eliot because he’d loved any excuse to cuddle Quentin since day one. 

She was pissed she’d failed to prepare for this. She’d  _ told  _ Eliot that Q was going to fall the fuck apart. But then it hadn’t really happened, and he’d seemed fairly stable since then. They’d all been so fucking focused on the magic of it all, of Quentin not getting hurt again, that she’d almost forgotten he’d been hurt in the first place.

_ Focus,  _ she told herself, shaking off the guilt was trying to feel.  _ Next steps. _

She shrugged herself out of Eliot’s pajama top and pulled clothes from her closet to change into. Her vanity revealed that her hair was still fairly sexy from the night before, so she only took a few minutes to touch up last night’s make-up before heading downstairs to the kitchen. She hadn’t been lying to Q, she  _ was  _ starving. 

Stepping around other students who were brewing coffee or pouring cereal, Margo scavenged for something portable and appropriate to take up to the bedroom, something that could be shared in case they got lucky enough to convince Quentin to eat. 

Pickings were slim, however, and she realized she’d never told Todd to go pick up their grocery list before his weekly visit home to his parents. She found a bag of opened trail mix hidden under some chips and carried it out to the patio with a bottle of water, deciding she needed nicotine again before sustenance.

“Margo, hey!”

“Fucking  _ Todd,”  _ she grumbled under her breath, turning to see him exiting the house. She crossed her arms and arched her brow. “Care to tell me why you’ve left us to starve to death this week?” She and Eliot had set up the arrangement with Todd early in their Brakebills career. Margo paid, Todd did the leg work, and Eliot cooked. Everyone remained happy and never had to lower themselves to cafeteria food. 

Todd winced. “I actually didn’t go visit my parents yesterday; they’re in Cancun for their anniversary.”

“Oh. Acceptable, I guess. But I’m hungry.”

“Oh. Well, I have some stuff in my room.” He laughed anxiously, as always, and she noticed he was holding a memo from Admin in his hand, the Brakebills insignia visible on the outside. “I, um, keep it in there so no one steals it, because everyone kind of steals my food. But you’re welcome to it, of course.”

“I might take you up on that. What’s in your hand, though?”

Todd looked briefly confused before he seemed to remember and his eyes widened. “I came to see if you’d take this to Eliot; it was just dropped off. I was going to wait awhile, because last time I knocked on his door before ten, it flew open and, um, a dildo hit me in the face?” Margo almost choked trying not to laugh, plucking it from his hand and unfolding the thick cardstock to read the slanted words written within.

_ Mr. Waugh,  _

_ It has been reported you were witnessed using battle magic last night. Please report to my office as soon as you receive this to discuss your use of unauthorized magic. -H. Fogg _

Margo sneered at the ink before taking the thick paper in her hands and ripping it down the middle. “That self-important cock,” she growled. “Like I needed something else today.” Without another word, she marched into the house and back up to Eliot’s door. 

Throwing it open, Margo was instantly paralyzed at the sight of Eliot and Quentin on the bed, her eyes flying wide as her brain stuttered, before it kicked back into the gear that allowed her to move. She hurriedly closed the door as silently as possible, eyes still bulging as she escaped to her bedroom. “Mother Mary on a coked out racehorse, that was hot,” she sighed, leaning her head back against the door. 

She hadn’t seen much, honestly, just enough to process what was happening. But she  _ had  _ seen El’s hand clenched in Quentin’s hair, had seen that intense, single-minded hunger he got in his eyes when he wanted something, and had  _ heard  _ the sounds that hunger had been wringing out of Q. “I need to get fucking laid,” she announced grouchily to the room.

Taking a moment to steady herself, Margo pushed herself away from the door to grab her Chanel sunglasses from her dresser and her Anna Sui jacket from the closet. If Eliot was busy working on Q, she could handle Henry Fogg herself. 

*

_ Eliot _

After both of them had gone their separate ways to shower and dress, Eliot and Quentin ventured downstairs together in search of food. Well, Eliot was in search of food and he damn well meant to get some into his boyfriend, too. He didn’t think he’d have a lot of difficulty; Quentin’s void expression from earlier had been him already trying to process ending their relationship, and while Eliot was still feeling a bit unsteady from the morning’s emotional rollercoaster (and the fact his grand scheme to ease Quentin into sex again had just been thrown out the fucking window and he wasn’t sure what the healthy level of guilt was for that), he kept glancing to Q’s face to make sure he didn’t slip away again. Mark’s threats were a lot to take on top of all the shit he was already living under. 

Eliot frowned as he searched the contents of the kitchen for something to throw together a meal with while Quentin retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and took a seat at the island to wait, pulling his phone from his pocket. After a thorough search, Eliot presented their options. “So, I can make spinach quesadillas, but I’d have to use three different kinds of cheese. Or we can eat granola straight from the bag, which I’m honestly not feeling adverse to at the moment.”

When Quentin didn’t answer, Eliot turned to see his brown eyes focused intently on the screen of his phone and smiled because it was just so adorably predictable. “What are the young Chatwins up to today?” he asked playfully, snatching the phone from Q’s hand. 

“Eliot!”

Glimpsing an erotic stock photo under an article heading, Eliot almost fumbled the phone in his rush to return it. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” He could feel himself blushing, and turned his back to Quentin to focus on quesadillas, yes, because those took longer and he definitely needed a minute to wrangle his embarrassment. 

He heard Quentin sigh as he pulled the package of tortillas from one cabinet and a frying pan from another. 

“Eliot?”

Unable to determine the tone of Quentin’s voice, he turned to face him again. “I shouldn’t have done it, Q. I kind of just assume you’re reading fantasy or arguing about it, and that’s shallow. I won’t do it again.”

Quentin rolled his eyes, smirking. “Well, my phone’s not as exciting as I assume yours is, but I just had some questions about things. It’s fine.”

“Are they questions you can’t ask me?” Seeing the subtle blush starting on Quentin’s cheeks, he shook his head. “It’s fine if that’s the case, I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know yet, hence the reading,” Quentin replied, waving his phone with a wry smile. “I kind of just wanted some perspective first.”

Eliot was wildly curious, but reigned it in. “Okay, but when you’re ready, you know you can ask me anything, right?”

Quentin nodded, smiling gently before it turned into something much more mischievous. “Can I see  _ your _ phone, then?”

Eliot arched a brow at him, but knew he was only teasing. Still, he wasn’t one to back down from a dare, and fair was fair. 

He delighted in the shock on Quentin’s face as he slid his own cell across the counter to him. “Passcode is 1013,” he said casually, returning his attention to the food prep.

“El, I wasn’t serious.”

Eliot shrugged, crossing the kitchen to retrieve the spinach and nearly empty bags of cheese from the fridge. “There’s nothing on it I’d care if you saw. I also have downloaded copies of actual books on some of the, um, topics you seem to have taken an interest in? You could email them to yourself.” Catching Q’s eye, he smirked and bit his lip. “And there’s also my stunning collection of nudes.” He wiggled his eyebrows, daring Quentin.

Eliot felt a little thrill when Quentin narrowed his eyes and then did take the phone, punching in the code to unlock it. “What’s 1013, anyway?”

“My birthday,” he lied smoothly, resting all the ingredients he’d gathered on the counter. 

He heard Quentin scoff. “Your birthday’s the 29th.”

Eliot felt himself positively beam at the kitchen sink. “Fine, it’s Margo’s birthday.”

“What about my birthday?”

He turned to see Margo stepping into the kitchen and was surprised to see her dressed like she’d been out. “I thought you’d be in bed.”

She curled her lip. “No, I had to go deal with Fogg’s ass. And I really tried, El, but he’s outside.”

“What?” Quentin asked, setting Eliot’s phone aside.

Margo sighed. “Someone reported the spell you threw at Mark last night. Fogg’s not kicking you out or anything, I told him you don’t know battle magic, but he wants to see it.”

“Fuck,” Eliot bit out, looking at the food on the counter. 

Margo crowded into his space. “Go, I’ve got it.”

Eliot scoffed. “You?”

“Yes, I can heat cheese and bread together, get the fuck out.” She said it gently enough, however, so Eliot cast a reassuring look at Quentin before leaving the room to head towards the front door.

Outside, he found Fogg standing with his hands behind him, looking curiously around at the scenery. Seeing Eliot approach, he said “I swear every time I come here, the place is a little further west. You’re going to affect the wards if you don’t make it sit still for a while.”

Eliot shrugged easily, feeling anything but. “I think after so many spells, it just kind of likes to drift now, honestly,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “So, I was reported?”

“Yes, by three different students. Miss Hanson showed up in my office very adamantly proclaiming your innocence.”

“If I’d ever studied battle magic, I would have used it,” he told him, because it was the truth. 

“I’m not stupid enough to have assumed otherwise. Still, I have to at least look like I’m following the rules if I want to continue running this school once this…  _ mess  _ is finished. The actual point of calling you to my office was to tell you that I have shut down visitation for the time being. All the alumni keys have been deactivated until Mark Davidson is in custody.”

“Fuck. Okay. That would… prevent Traveling inside the wards, right?”

“It would, but Davidson isn’t a Traveler.”

“No, but he let Q know last night that he’s got friends.”

Fogg sighed. “Well, we already knew this had to be bigger than Mr. Coldwater. That spell can be placed on anyone, and has been used on others, though we’re having quite the difficulty getting any information out of the few we’ve located.”

“Has Julia told you about her little trip last night? It’s been used on hedges, too.”

“She did email me; I read it this morning. The other professors and I are meeting later today to go over everything we know with the authorities.” He leveled a look at Eliot. “For now, though, you’re going to show me exactly what you did last night.”

Fuck. “Fine.”

*

_ Quentin _

Once Eliot was out of earshot, Margo whirled on him. “What the fuck is all this?” she asked, gesturing at everything on the counter.

“I think he mentioned quesadillas, but I really wasn’t listening.” Glancing over all the items, he shrugged. “Looks like it, though.”

Margo looked over the ingredients before shaking her head. “Nah, not happening. Help me put this up and then explain to me why you have El’s phone.”

Quentin felt the blood rush to his face, but hopped off the barstool to assist Margo in returning everything to the fridge and cabinets. “I, uh, we were just talking. I think he just felt bad because he stole mine for a second, but I don’t need to, like, go through his stuff.”

“I wouldn’t turn it down,” she said saucily, closing the door of the fridge before her expression slid into something slightly more serious. “Glad you’re not zombie Q anymore.”

Quentin darted his eyes away, shuffling to return the tortilla shells to the cabinet. “Yeah, I just… had some stuff.” He felt a burning behind his eyes as he thought of what he’d almost done. 

“Did you work it out okay?” she asked, and the knowing tone of her voice made Quentin look her way again to see her dark eyes full of devilry. 

Quentin narrowed his eyes momentarily before his brain caught up with the insinuation, and he felt his flush deepen. “Did you… was I… did you hear something?” he squeaked out. 

Margo cackled gleefully, tilting her head back, and her eyes were bright when they met his again. “I may have… caught a second of the show.”

“What? You…” Feeling like his face might actually ignite, he escaped to the other side of the room to throw the containers of spices back in the rack. 

“Relax, it’s not like I saw your dick or something. I cleared out fast. I just didn’t think I’d be walking into soft-core porn considering you couldn’t even look at Eliot when I left.”

Quentin dropped his hand from the cumin. “Yeah, I just… I almost fucked up.  _ Really  _ fucked up.” He leaned against the counter as he faced her again, but was still unable to look her in the eye. “I mean, I still did, because it’s me, but it could have been worse. Things got… intense after that.”

“What did you do, Coldwater?”

Hearing the command for what it was, Quentin looked up, his eyes skimming over her face. “I almost broke up with him.”

Margo gaped. “You… excuse me?” Her voice was thin, her eyes glinting and sharp.

“I just… things are going to get worse, Margo.” And Quentin tried to say it for the first time, the name,  _ Mark.  _ But it wouldn’t leave his throat, and his worry over being eviscerated where he stood was replaced by another. “I… Margo, I can’t say it.”

“Say what?” she asked, a flicker of unease flashing through her indignation.

“His… name? I can’t. It won’t, like, come out.”

Margo’s expression went blank as she studied him “You can’t say Eliot’s name?” Quentin shook his head, and after a moment Margo’s eyes widened. “Wait, do you mean Mark?”

Quentin nodded, ignoring the sensation of tears trying to gather in his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut for a moment. 

“Well, that’s a fucking puzzle piece, I guess. I’ll let Fogg or Julia know. Now, tell me what the fuck led to your monstrous fuck-up so I know how much damage control I’m looking at.”

Quentin let out a heavy breath, trying to set his panic aside; Julia would know what to do. “Last night…  _ he  _ told me he can just send someone else for me. He doesn’t have to use the spell. And I just thought Eliot’s already done  _ so much.  _ I mean, you all have but at least you and Julia get breaks, a-and I felt I had to at least give him the option--”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she shouted, and Quentin jumped back against the edge of the countertop.  _ “God,  _ I am sick of this.”

“S-Sick of what?” 

She glared at him. “Sick of how my two best friends are fucking in love with each other and are so goddamn self-loathing they can’t let themselves just fuck and be happy about it. I swear, I’m going to end up locking you in a room together with nothing but truth serum to drink just so I can have a minute of peace.”

_ I’m your best friend? In love?  _ Quentin sagged against the counter, definitely not ready to discuss either of those things.

But Margo wasn’t finished, raising a pointed finger in his direction. “I have spent this whole  _ year  _ listening to Eliot’s excuses.  _ ‘He’s straight,’ ‘he’s my friend,’ ‘he fucked Alice,’ ‘he just gets that look when he’s drunk,”  _ she mimicked. “And finally,  _ finally,  _ it happens and now I have to worry about  _ you?” _

Quentin wasn’t sure what to say in response to diffuse the situation, but suddenly a flash of inspiration flared in Margo’s eyes and she reached for Eliot’s phone, handing it to him. “You know what? I’m not even gonna deal with this. You’re  _ going _ to go through his phone, specifically his pictures and conversations with me, and if you still don’t fucking get it, you’re not going to and I give up. Bring it with you. We’re going to raid Todd’s room for food, and then we’re watching some fucking TV. The dumber the better.”

Quentin barely remembered to grab his own phone before following Margo upstairs. “What about Eliot?”

She held up her hand to show him as she performed their sending tut.

_ Meet us in my room when you’re done showing off, El. _

A moment later, he heard Eliot respond.  _ Hilarious, Bambi. _

He didn’t sound amused.

*

_ Eliot _

He’d had to return inside to retrieve a sheet of paper, but once he’d demonstrated his skill to Fogg, Eliot had grown wary of the deep interest he saw in the man’s eyes. 

Immediately afterwards, Fogg had gestured to a long, thin twig on the ground. “Again.”

Eliot had sighed, lifted the twig from the ground with his mind, and sliced it cleanly into three pieces which fell to the ground.

“Excellent.”

Now, Fogg was leading him towards the side of the property and Eliot frowned when the man pointed to a concrete bench. “Try that this time.”

Eliot laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not expecting you to succeed, Eliot. I just want you to try.”

Eliot shook his head. He hated this, feeling like he was under some kind of microscope. 

Before he could approach the bench, Fogg spoke again. “This time, try to actually focus. Picture it in your mind, exactly what you want to happen.”

“Yeah,” Eliot replied with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll do that.”

Squaring off with the bench, Eliot studied the almost porous surface of the concrete, the egg and dart detailing pressed into the material of its sides. 

_ Meet us in my room when you’re done showing off, El. _

Eliot pressed his lips into a thin line before impatiently responding.  _ Hilarious, Bambi. _

He refocused, picturing the slab of concrete slicing into two clean pieces and falling inward. A muscle near his eye twitched just slightly as he let go.

Eliot jumped at the crack that sounded across the yard, blinking as he heard Fogg laugh off to his side. “Goddamn!” He watched as the older man walked towards the bench to examine the damage. 

Seeing as nothing had fallen, Eliot felt almost relieved that he had failed. But he’d done  _ something _ , and his curiosity moved his feet forward to take a look.

Eliot’s mouth fell open as he looked down at the seat of the bench, a cold wave of nausea rolling through him. There was a two-inch divot missing from the edge of the bench, where his magic had struck first, and the hairline crack that followed reached almost halfway through the slab. “Fuck,” he breathed shakily. 

“Quite.” Fogg stood up straight and Eliot looked at him with a flat expression, hoping he wasn’t visibly shaking, but he was definitely shaking, so lost cause. “For such a committed underachiever, you sure have been hiding a lot of talent up your ass.” Eliot chose not to take advantage of the jokes that flooded his giddy, terrified brain that the comment inspired. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it talent,” he replied. “I can cut things, so what?”

Fogg chuckled. “You’re not ‘cutting’ anything, not really. That’s why I wanted you to try with something denser.” He pointed to the edge of the bench. “A blade, no matter the strength, wouldn’t have done that. You forced it apart.”

“How is that any different?”

“Because focusing your telekinesis into a striking force is impressive, yes, but most Physical magicians can eventually learn how. You, however, are focusing on the object, manipulating  _ it  _ to come apart at a molecular level. Most Master magicians wouldn’t even dream of such a thing; the metamath alone required gives me an aneurysm just thinking about it.”

Eliot couldn’t focus on that. “So, you think I ripped Davidson apart, then?”

“I think you acted on instinct, so I can’t answer. But you can do things with this, Eliot. Destroying something is the easiest magic, but with this you could eventually build.” He brushed his hands together. “I’ll be speaking to Sunderland. Once you return to class, you’ll be starting an advanced course to explore this further.”

“Are you serious, Henry? I can barely keep up already.”

“I suggest you start actually trying, then.” He clapped Eliot on the shoulder. “Welcome to higher learning, Mr. Waugh.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I do a an insane level of research for tiny parts of my story that don't even really matter, and I want to say, Eliot is still telekinetic. As far as fictional superpowers go, there are some that would say I'm writing him as omnikinetic, but he's not THAT powerful. So I'm still sticking with telekinesis being his discipline.


	24. Lost Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from song by Ruth B.

_ Quentin _

It felt strange to be in Margo’s bed, propped up against an ungodly amount of pillows as he held Eliot’s phone in his hands. Margo was pointed in the other direction, resting on her stomach as she flipped through a menu for something to watch and ate Todd’s Cheetos straight from the bag.

Before he could think of another reason it was a very bad idea, Quentin rapidly entered the passcode to Eliot’s phone, not wanting to piss Margo off more than she already had been. 

The first thing Quentin noticed was the wallpaper, a selfie of Eliot and Margo’s smiling faces that looked like it had been taken in the common room, judging by the green wallpaper he could glimpse behind their collective curls. The second was the staggering amount of notifications he saw over the icons as he swiped through the apps. Eliot was always so organized with everything, but his phone was a mess. 72 unread emails, 20 unread texts, over a hundred Instagram notifications…

Social media seemed like the safest option at the moment, even though it wasn’t what Margo had asked him to look at, and Quentin opened the app, taking a moment to remember how to navigate it before he found Eliot’s posts.

He blinked, confused, to see a photo of himself at the top of the page, labelled with yesterday’s date. It had been heavily edited and Quentin could just see enough of his profile behind his hair to even realize it was him, leaning against the wall with his ankles crossed and a glass of bourbon in hand as he stared ahead at something. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d been doing at the time, but the filters Eliot had applied made him look… almost attractive.

The caption only read “criminal.” Margo had liked it. And 46 others, but he wasn’t about to go down that rabbit hole at the moment. 

Already feeling flustered and more than a little voyeuristic, he sighed and closed the app. “Margo, I can’t,” he confessed.

Margo growled, bouncing onto her side and yanking the phone from his hand. With a few quick flicks and swipes, she offered it back. “There, it’s open now. Nothing you can do about it.”

He glared. “I don’t  _ have  _ to look.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, that’s fine. I can just send everything to your phone, if you’d prefer that.”

They faced off for a moment before Margo’s threatening glare disappeared and he let out an “oof” as she pushed him down onto her pillows, shimmying up next to him. She rested on her back and tugged at him before he got the memo, settling his head against her shoulder. “Now,  _ I’m  _ looking, and you’re just my unwilling hostage.”

“I could close my eyes,” Quentin pointed out.

“Hmm. Mouth off one more time, Coldwater, and you’ll find out I handle it a lot differently than your boyfriend,” she said in a perfectly calm voice that made Quentin’s eyes widen. 

He kept them open.

“Besides,” she spoke again. “I thought we should add a little art appreciation to today’s lesson, and you’re too high-strung to take advantage of the very generous gift you’ve been given.”

The thumbnail Margo opened burned the air from Quentin’s lungs and his dick went immediately to half-mast in his jeans. “I-Is that your hand?” he whispered.

“It is,” Margo said proudly. “He let me do a whole black and white shoot that day. Honestly, it’s still my best work.”

Quentin tried to take in everything at once. Eliot’s upturned face, the joyful teasing visible in his eyes. His mouth opened and teeth biting against Margo’s thumb that was resting in the corner of his mouth. He was on his knees in the photo, one hand splayed on his thigh and the other gripping his cock at the base. “Holy fuck.”

“Mm-hm. He let his hair go a little last year. I think I like it better that way, but I’m not sure.” She sounded so casual, while Quentin could barely even breathe. 

Margo flipped back to the album, scrolling through dozens of pictures before she chose another and Quentin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “That’s just… us on the couch?”

“Yeah, that’s your homework. Anything with the two of you? I want focus.”

The door to Margo’s room swung open and they both watched Eliot enter, the neck of a liquor bottle clutched in his hand as he looked them over, brow furrowed as he tilted his head. “Is that my…? Okay. That.... has the potential to be hot, I guess. But one of you is going to have to pay attention to actual me now, thank you.”

Margo moved before Quentin could manage to, tossing the phone into his lap. He ignored it to watch Eliot take a seat on the end of the bed, curling a leg underneath him. He looked almost sick as he rested the bottle in his lap with a frown. 

“What the hell happened with Fogg?” Margo asked. 

Eliot shrugged, heaving a dramatic sigh. “Apparently I’m some kind of molecule manipulating freak, and now I have to take an advanced class with Sunderland,” he said, all in one long breath.

“Wait, what?” Quentin asked. 

Eliot looked at him softly through a pained expression before turning away. “I… don’t want to talk about it right now. I want to drink about it. And I’m already ahead, so catch up.”

“El, it’s not even nine o’clock,” Margo reminded him. “Have you even eaten anything?”

Eliot emitted a frustrated breath, pouting at her, but he allowed Margo to reach into his lap for the bottle. “I promise, we don’t have to talk about it. And I’ll give the bottle back later.”

Quentin watched as she held out her arms and Eliot crawled into her lap, curling in on himself with his back to Quentin as she ran her fingers through his hair. Margo gave him a heavy look and pointed at Eliot’s phone in his lap. 

_ It’s not like he doesn’t know I have it now,  _ he told himself, laying back against the pillows and unlocking it again. The picture of him and Eliot on the sofa in the common room was still on the screen, but he didn’t understand what Margo wanted him to see, so he flicked his thumb to the next. 

Quentin quickly realized that shuffling through the album instead of the thumbnails was like playing Russian roulette with his dick, because Eliot’s pictures weren’t organized in any definable way. He tried to focus on Margo and Eliot’s quiet conversation as they chose something to watch, reminding himself he wasn’t alone with just a screenful of porn for company. 

_ Not that porn is really going to be useful ever again,  _ he thought. Not when these were at his disposal. 

Still, Quentin tortured himself a little. A selfie of Eliot and Margo on a beach that made him grin, their smiles wide and their eyes obviously drunk, high, or both. (Probably both.) Margo in the library, giving the camera the finger while her eyes remained trained on the book in front of her. A shot of Eliot with his head against a pillow, his eyes squeezed shut, nose wrinkled, and mouth cracked wide open with laughter.

Then, another black and white of Eliot, this time from below. His gaze was focused at the camera with a mean smirk Quentin had witnessed a time or two, his curls framing his face. It didn’t show anything, but the angle was incredibly suggestive, reminding him of what he’d almost asked for that morning before settling on a choice he’d thought Eliot would be less likely to turn down. But it was all too easy to imagine himself in that position, even receiving that look, and Quentin hurriedly flipped to the next photo, willing his pulse to stop pumping blood into his face and other regions. 

For every dozen or so silly or random shots, or selfies with Margo (Eliot didn’t seem to take selfies on his own), there was a dangerous one, but Quentin did pause over the ones Margo had pointed out, trying to understand what she wanted him to see. 

It wasn’t until he found a photo she’d taken of him and Eliot perched in the window seat that he saw it. The caption Margo had added and the fact he’d completely forgotten that moment made him pause longer than usual. 

_ “My sad boys. :(” _

Quentin’s second descent into depression at Brakebills had hit him hard, right around Christmas. It had only lasted about a week, but memories from those days were disjointed and colored with gray. The photo helped him remember more; how Margo had dragged him from his bed, dirty hair, sweatpants and all to sit in the window during the cottage Christmas/Solstice/Whateverthefuck party, his Fillory book still in his hand. He’d been cranky about it, but eventually lost himself in the pages again. He did remember Eliot had joined him at one point, had pet his hair and tried to talk to him, but had eventually settled into silence until he’d been called away. He’d appreciated the attention at the time in a distracted way, but it hadn’t seemed especially important or unique. Eliot always made time for him, even if only for a minute.

Margo’s perspective of the moment showed Quentin what he hadn’t seen. He could barely see his own face in the photo, most of it obscured by his hair and the fact Eliot had pulled him in against his chest, tucking his head under his chin. He studied Eliot’s hand on the back of his head, the weary line of his mouth, the wrinkle of concern on his brow as he stared out at nothing with drawn eyes. The contrast of the two of them side by side was also disconcerting, Quentin basically in his pajamas, his hair lank and heavy, while Eliot was dressed to his full magnificence, ever the spectacular host. The host who’d left his duties to cuddle his filthy best friend. The host who… might have been so worried that Margo had dragged Quentin out of bed because of it.

It was hard to deny with the evidence staring him in the face, but Quentin left the photo to find the others taken in the common room. He knew what to look for now, he had the missing piece, because there was no real reason for Margo to have taken so many random photos of them all lounging around like they did every day unless she’d seen something she’d wanted to capture, right?

And slowly, Quentin was able to see those things, too. Because in every photo, Eliot wasn’t looking at the camera, or Todd, or Julia, or anyone else.

Eliot was looking at  _ him.  _ Smiling, glaring, pouting, arguing, explaining, teasing, cackling, and sometimes just staring, his eyes unreadable. And he blushed to see that there were almost as many photos of himself looking back. Margo was either the sneakiest person alive or had spelled her phone to capture all the photos she had. 

He was far into the album, barely hearing the snickering of Margo and Eliot in the room, when he noticed a grainy photo of himself, taken from a distance. He was standing with Alice outside, and it took him a second to merge the photo with his own memory. It had been the day he’d been assigned to the cottage, and he and Alice had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to get inside before she’d burned a hole through the door. How had he not seen Margo? She must have been a crazy distance away. 

The photo was terrible, but the caption…  _ “Your boy’s home, you can calm down now.” _

Quentin took in a slow breath as he also let other memories merge with Margo’s snapshots, making connections that led to more connections, creating a network of answers to questions he hadn’t had the courage to ask since he’d stepped onto the wide expanse of lawn that had started everything.

_ Eliot loves me. _

It answered everything. 

_ Why are you here? Why me? Why would you tell me that? Why are you helping me? Why are you holding me? Why won’t you go away? Why don’t you like Alice? Why aren’t you mad? Why do you look at me like that? Why are you mad now? Why do you look so sad? Why are you so obsessed with my hair? Why won’t you talk to me? Why are you making me do this? Why won’t you leave me alone? Why would you give me this? _

_ Why do you care? _

Tears glossed over Quentin’s vision, making Margo and Eliot blurry to him, but they weren’t looking and he easily blinked them away, brushing the excess from the corners of his eyes. He didn’t need to read Margo’s messages that would most likely spell it out for him, and he didn’t need to hide his budding curiosity about the sexual lifestyle Eliot enjoyed because he wasn’t going to learn Eliot in a book or a blog or a stupid web article. 

And what was the strangest thing for him is that for once in his life, Quentin didn’t need any affirmation, for anyone to tell him he was right. He didn’t need Eliot to say it, because he knew Eliot was just as fucked up as he was. He might never say it, or he’d find some other way to say it, like he’d already been doing for months. And that was okay because Quentin understood, because…

_ I love Eliot. _

He wanted to laugh; it was hard not to. Everything outside of this room was absolute shit. At any moment, his brain could fill with the static of opposing impulses that would leave him shaking and miserable for hours. There were people, somewhere, planning to take him away from everything he cared about. 

But here, it was just Eliot, who loved him, and Margo, who’d called him her best friend, so Quentin only smiled as he set Eliot’s phone aside, content to watch them do nothing but watch  _ Drag Race  _ and feed each other Cheetos while Eliot made tipsy commentary and Margo laughed. 

“You’re not serious,” Margo was saying as Quentin picked up the thread of conversation. 

“Oh, I think I’m serious. Derrick can  _ get it.” _ Eliot immediately looked over his shoulder with wide eyes and feigned innocence. “Hypothetically, of course.”

And Quentin laughed.

  
  



	25. You're Already Burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Burned" by Grace VanderWaal.
> 
> Have a surprise midnight chapter! I've figured out the reason I can't start on anything new, and it's because I'm still posting this, and re-reading things over for mistakes before each posting. SO. I'm actually going to be posting MORE often. Because I'd really like to start on something else, but this world is really hard for me to leave. I'll probably post another in the morning. Hope you like.

_ Eliot _

Some time after ten that morning, Eliot’s slight inebriation and the stress brought on from his conversation with the dean (not to mention the incredible piles of stress he’d already been existing under), caused him to fall asleep in Margo’s lap.

When he woke, he reached for the closest phone (Margo’s) to see he’d been out for a little over an hour. Margo had moved away from him to get her own rest, and was asleep next to Quentin, who was reading something from his own phone. Eliot reached out, running his hand over the top of Q’s bare foot, smiling when he jerked a little in surprise. “Sorry.”

Quentin smiled. “It’s fine, I just didn’t know you were awake.”

“You read too hard, that’s why.” Seeing Quentin’s smile turn fond instead of the exasperated one he’d been aiming for, Eliot looked at him questioningly. “What?”

Quentin shook his head. “Nothing. I just like your voice when you first wake up.”

_ Oh.  _ “Um, okay.” He ran his hand up to Quentin’s ankle, loving the rough feel of the hair against his palm. “So are you in Fillory again, or did you email yourself the books I mentioned?”

Eliot knew he was fishing, and that it might be obvious. But he’d been quietly worried since his stolen glance at Quentin’s phone, wondering if he’d done something over the line earlier that morning, or even under it, which could lead to a bold new world of worries.

“I don’t think your books are going to answer anything for me,” Quentin replied. “But I’m not really worried about it.” One of his eyebrows lifted slightly. “I just can’t figure out if what you caught me looking at excited you or concerned you, now.”

“Um,” Eliot hummed, curling his lips over his teeth before popping his lips apart. “More the second than the first, but both?”

Quentin pushed his lips out, a thoughtful stare in his eyes before he spoke again. “It’s something from my past. Columbia past,” he added. “You don’t have anything to worry about, El.”

The response provided Eliot with few answers, more questions, and not nearly enough relief. “Okay, then. But if you catch yourself thinking of Little Miss Undergrad choking you, just remember that I have  _ much  _ bigger hands,” he said with a meaningful look.

Quentin turned scarlet, his eyes blinking slowly before he nodded once. “Will do,” he said, setting his phone aside. “Are you ready to talk about your meeting with Fogg, or do you want to be jealous over the fact I’m not a virgin some more?”

Eliot narrowed his eyes to slits, pretending to think about it. “Jealous, probably.” Seeing Quentin’s annoyed look, however, he sighed and stretched out across the end of the bed. “It’s just overwhelming. Apparently I’m not just throwing my magic, I’m, like, taking things apart at a quantum level, or something.” 

“Shit.”

“Exactly? And Fogg… kind of indicated I could do more than just that. It’s a lot to think about, knowing your magic isn’t purely destructive, but that’s still all you’ve ever used it for.”

“Hey, that’s not true.” Eliot felt stripped under Quentin’s gaze suddenly, and hated it. “I seem to remember something from this morning that wasn’t destructive at all.” The warmth in his eyes flattened suddenly and he scowled. “Except for me, of course, but that’s what I do, no magic required.”

“Stop,” Eliot told him, massaging just above his ankle. “We’re fine.”

“I hurt you, though.”

And Eliot couldn’t deny that. “I’ve hurt you, too. And we will both do so again. Stop making worries for tomorrow; we have enough.”

Quentin let out a wry laugh. “God, don’t we?”

That reminded him. “Oh, I completely fucking forgot. When Fogg was here, he said they’ve locked down campus. None of the alumni keys are working.” He smiled. “No one can Travel here.”

The relief that filled Quentin’s eyes nearly brought tears to Eliot’s own, and he squeezed gently around his ankle to ground himself.

But, as always, Q’s brain wasn’t ever content to stay… well, content for long, and concern filled his eyes again. “Actually, there’s another problem I noticed this morning. Probably not a big one? But I’m not sure.”

“Okay.”

“I was, uh, trying to tell Margo something when you were outside and I can’t… I can’t say his name.”

The weight of Quentin’s words told Eliot instantly who he was referring to. “Are you serious? Like, at all?”

Quentin shook his head. “Not at all.”

Eliot sat up on his elbow, remembering what Fogg had told him about the other victims. “Q, that’s actually… possibly huge. I need to tell Julia.” He reached for his phone, sitting up to type out the message. 

“Okay, but what’s huge about it?”

Eliot’s fingers paused over the screen of his phone. “They’ve found others. You know that, right?” With so many people involved and so much information being passed around, it was sometimes hard for him to remember what conversations had involved whom. 

“Y-Yeah, Jules told me.”

“Fogg said this morning they can’t get any answers out of them. It’s probably all the same spell.”

“Okay, but if that’s true, why didn’t it show up in the Reveal done on me?”

Eliot chewed his lip as he resumed typing. “I can only think because the spell’s on  _ Mark,  _ not you or anyone he’s done this to.”

“What, like some kind of Secrets magic?”

“Possibly.” Text sent, Eliot crawled up the bed to lean against Quentin’s shoulder. “Let Julia worry about it; she’s good at that.” He smiled as he felt Quentin’s arm settle around his shoulder. “Can I ask you something, though?”

“Yeah.”

“If you weren’t reading on my phone earlier, what  _ were  _ you doing?” He kept his eyes on the television, which was still playing  _ Drag Race,  _ but Margo had lowered the volume before falling asleep. 

“I just looked at your pictures. That was still okay, right?”

Eliot smiled. “More than. See anything you liked?”

“Nope, nothing at all.”

Eliot turned to gape at Quentin to find his face flushed, with a wide grin that Eliot wanted to bite. “You’re a jerk,” he mumbled, leaning forward to snap near his mouth. 

“You were fishing for compliments that you  _ definitely  _ don’t need.”

“Hm.”

“But yes, there might have been a few I enjoyed.”

“Just a few?”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “You don’t stop.”

“I don’t,” he replied, smiling when Quentin leaned forward to kiss him. “I hope you’re prepared for the staggering amounts of assurance I require to function,” he teased against his lips.

“I think I’ll live,” he replied, flicking his tongue against Eliot’s lips before drawing away. “So, do I ever get to pick what we watch today?”

“I am not watching  _ Lord of the Rings.  _ I got over Legolas years ago.”

Quentin snorted. “I was actually wanting to watch  _ Stranger Things.  _ I haven’t seen it yet.”

“I think Margo has, but she’d probably be fine with it. Are you sure you want to watch it now, though? We talk through everything.” He smirked at Margo’s open mouth resting against her pillow. “When we’re both awake, anyway.”

“I’ve noticed. But it’s fine. It was just an idea, anyway.”

“I don’t mind. The sheriff guy looks kind of hot.”

“Are you serious?” 

Eliot turned away from the TV, smirking. “He’s a total DILF.”

“So, beer guts and khaki do it for you?”

_ God, you’re such a snob,  _ Eliot thought with a shiver of lust. “Not as much as sarcasm and flannel, apparently, but they have merit.”

Quentin narrowed his eyes, smirking right back. “You’re an asshole.”

Eliot only made a “what can you do?” face and shrugged in response.

*

_ Quentin _

Quentin was relaxed, full from the most amazing burger he’d ever eaten (Margo had bribed someone downstairs into a food run), and just a little drunk as he reclined between Margo and Eliot that evening. He was surprised that the two of them were mostly following the show along with him. Eliot had been correct earlier; Margo had already watched it, but she seemed to be enjoying explaining certain things to Eliot, and Eliot was delighting in fanning himself every time David Harbour appeared on the screen before he  _ looked  _ at Quentin. 

“Oh my God!” Margo exclaimed suddenly, wagging a finger at the TV. “El, that guy in the lab looked just like--”

“Don’t.”

Margo snickered against Quentin’s shoulder. “Oh, so you  _ did  _ notice?”

“I didn’t notice anything, because that memory has been repressed and  _ you _ took an oath of silence,” Eliot replied simply, tipping his glass back for a drink. 

“Okay, what are you two talking about?” Quentin asked, looking between them. 

“Nothing.” Eliot fully enunciated the two syllables, while Margo giggled. “Oh, look. Christmas lights.”

After a few moments, Margo patted his shoulder. “No worries, Q. El just doesn’t like to dwell on his less-than-perfect sexual encounters.”

Quentin looked to see Eliot’s lips pursed in a dangerous way, his eyes fixed on the screen. 

“Oh, those exist?” he asked, and Eliot rolled his eyes.

“Of course they do, but I did nothing wrong.”

“Still had to hide in your room all night until Lipson fixed your tooth,” Margo said in a rush, squealing when Eliot lunged at her with murder in his eyes over Quentin’s prone form. He squirmed away from the two as Eliot tried to wrestle Margo to the mattress, but her much smaller form made it easy for her to keep evading his attempts to pin her down, and she eventually rolled her entire body over Quentin, pushing him up from the mattress to use as a shield.

“I… what about a tooth?” Quentin asked, slightly dazed as he was faced with Eliot.

Eliot sighed, the violence fading from his eyes. “Fine, we can play,” he told Margo before looking at Quentin. “First year. Halloween. I was enjoying a perfectly average blow job in my room. Unfortunately, I was standing up for it when he decided he wanted to experiment a little and tried to deep throat me.” Quentin’s eyes widened. “Exactly. He freaked out, he bit my dick, and I fell and chipped my tooth on his skull.”

Margo was screaming with laughter by this point and Eliot scowled at her. Quentin held his own laughter in, not wanting to draw his boyfriend’s ire. 

“But,” Eliot continued with a menacing light in his eyes, “I’ve never missed a week of class during Lipson’s vacation because I accidentally wiped a guy’s come in my eye and it swelled shut, so there’s that.”

Margo’s jaw dropped. “Dirty pool, Waugh.” 

“You started it,” he said with a tilt of his brow. 

“Oh, and I can keep going.”

“So can I,” Eliot said smoothly.

Quentin laughed, drawing the attention of both of them. “Sorry. By all means, keep going. It’s just hard to imagine either of you, like, I don’t know, doing anything that embarrassing.”

Margo scoffed. “Why? Sex is weird, Q. And as much as we’ve had, it’s bound to go sideways sometimes.”

“Amen,” Eliot said before looking down at him with an amused smile. “I swallowed a nipple ring once.”

“You did not,” Quentin breathed.

“I did. I remember it… vividly.”

“I was fucking a guy once and he started crying. Apparently his dog had passed away that morning,” Margo told him, pulling an awkward face. “I felt bad, so I let him finish.”

The television was forgotten as Margo and Eliot regaled them with tales of their sexual misadventures. It was mortifying and comforting at the same time.

Until Margo poked at his side. “What about you, Q? Got any stories?”

“Oh yes,” Eliot said, sitting up to bounce against the bed. “Let’s hear your pre-Brakebills tales of terror.”

Quentin could already feel himself blushing. “I mean… there’s not a lot? I can honestly count the times I’ve had sex on both hands.”

“There’s gotta be one,” Margo pressed, draining her glass and setting it aside. “Spill.”

Quentin could easily recount the worst experience he’d had, and told himself it was only fair. And somehow, Eliot always got what he wanted, eventually. He suspected magic. 

Using his arms to push himself up a little, he reached for Eliot’s drink and took a hefty swallow before returning it. “Okay, so. I think it was my second year at Columbia. Someone Julia knew was having a party at this  _ huge  _ apartment and she convinced me to go with her and James. I-I got pretty drunk because the whole place was packed and it was really loud, and this girl started talking to me. Like, teasing me for being shy, making fun of my drink, stuff like that. Like she was kind of being a bitch, but never left me alone?”

Eliot nodded, with a roll of his eyes. “Negging. Yawn.”

“Anyway, she just kind of started making out with me and it had been a while... “ He shrugged. “We ended up in some bedroom down the hall and, you know.” 

Margo gave him a sage look, indicating she did indeed know. 

“But right in the middle, she just started, like, choking me. And at first, I didn’t mind it? But she just kept on until I freaked out and pushed her off of me. And she got shitty with  _ me  _ for  _ pushing her.  _ She locked herself in the bathroom until I got dressed and left.” He shrugged. “That’s really the worst I’ve got.”

Margo and Eliot were quiet, however, exchanging small glances in that way they did that always unnerved him. “Could one of you say… something?”

“Sorry, Q,” Margo spoke. “Shitty top stories just piss me off, is all.”

“Agreed,” Eliot added. 

Quentin’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, but… I guess what I’ve been wondering is, how can everyone just know? I get she shouldn’t have done it, but how do you know  _ until _ you do it?”

“You ask,” Margo told him with a pointed glare. 

“I get that too, but what if she  _ had _ asked? I would have had no idea how to answer her because I’d never tried it, and the same thing probably would have happened.”

“No,” Eliot spoke, almost interrupting him as he set his glass on the nightstand. There was something dark in his eyes, the humor from earlier gone entirely. “It’s fairly easy to gauge consent and still control a situation. I can show you now, if you’re comfortable with Margo here.”

Quentin’s eyes darted towards Margo before looking back to Eliot. “Um, that depends?”

Eliot smiled. “You won’t be moving, removing any clothing, and I won’t touch you with anything other than my hand.” He lifted his left hand to demonstrate. “I won’t go under your clothes, and Margo doesn’t have permission to touch you. See, I’ve already laid out the rules; it’s that easy. Do you agree to them?”

Quentin quickly determined that Eliot’s terms sounded just sexual enough to be interesting (possibly only because he wasn’t entirely sober), but somehow clinical enough that he could also withstand Margo witnessing it without bursting into flames of embarrassment. “Um. Yeah, sure.”

Eliot shifted closer, his gaze intent as he settled his hand across Quentin’s throat, applying no pressure at all. “Good?”

Quentin nodded, his breath quickening, unsure if he felt wildly uncomfortable for the fact he could see Margo out of the corner of his eye, or wildly turned on by it. He really needed to figure that out, too. What was it about Margo? Quentin really didn’t feel any strong desire towards her specifically, but there was something he couldn’t place. And though he knew he could talk to Eliot about it, possibly even find the answer, he just couldn’t bring himself to bring it up.

“Good. Now, there may be a point when talking will be difficult, so I want you to squeeze my arm when you want me to stop. Put your hand there now and leave it, please.” Quentin lifted his hand from the bed and placed it just under the cuff of where Eliot’s rolled sleeve met his elbow, feeling the strong muscle of his forearm beneath. Eliot smirked, barely there. “I didn’t say squeeze yet, Q.”

“S-Sorry.” He relaxed his hold.

“Okay. I’m going to apply pressure, slowly. I want you to squeeze my arm as soon as it’s not enjoyable. Don’t try to adjust to it, and do  _ not  _ try to impress me. Understand?”

It was growing difficult for Quentin to find words to respond with the weight of Eliot’s rigid gaze on him. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Eliot’s hand tightened slowly against his throat, his eyes searching Quentin’s face as he squeezed gently, then firmer, and firmer until Quentin squeezed his arm.

The tension released immediately, and Quentin pulled in a breath. Eliot waited through several more. “I’m going to do it again, but change my grip. You’ll be able to talk, so just tell me to stop this time, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eliot’s hand returned to his neck, applying pressure again, but this time with only the ends of his fingers and thumb, closer to his jawline than before, and with only the faintest pressure against his windpipe. It wasn’t really choking at all, but Quentin’s eyes rolled at the sensation as the pressure increased, his thoughts scattering away like confetti until he was aware of nothing but the feel of himself growing hard, the deep, delicious pressure on his neck, and the sight of the cuff of Eliot’s shirt tight against his tensed forearm. 

“Fuck, El, he’s really taking it,” Margo spoke quietly. 

“Mm-hm.” The perfect calm of Eliot’s voice only pushed Quentin deeper into whatever strange fog he’d settled into. “Q, I don’t feel comfortable with anything more than this. Check in with me?”

“Mm. I’m… good. Fine.” He sounded like a stranger to himself.

“Do you want me to let go?”

“Not... really, but if you need to.”

“Jesus,” Margo chuckled lowly. 

Eliot held his grip for a moment more before letting go, and Quentin mourned the loss as he watched Eliot’s eye roam over his face. “You don’t learn things like this by doing, Q. You learn by asking and talking, and paying attention, and even when you think something is a sure bet, you still ask.”

“Are… are you mad?” Quentin felt out of sorts suddenly, fragile and unsure. 

“No, of course not,” Eliot told him, that steely gaze vanishing to be replaced with something warm before he slid down to lay at his side. “I just want you to know, things are different now. You can ask. Anything. No matter how fucked up it sounds in your head, I want you to ask. I want you to tell me things, too. And I will never do something you’re not completely sure about, and I don’t want you to do anything you’re not dying to. Hearing what happened to you just upset me, is all.”

“Sorry.”

A moment of silence passed until Quentin felt Margo cuddle close to his other side, nuzzling his shoulder. “It doesn’t take much to put him there, does it?” Quentin’s brow furrowed slightly.

“I’m not really sure yet, but let’s not talk about him like he’s not here. He’s coming back to us.”

“I’m right here,” Quentin said, a bit annoyed, but his voice sounded slurred and drugged to his own ears.

“I know, baby.” There was a beat before Eliot spoke again. “You care if I kiss you in front of Margo?”

“You kiss me all the time in front of Margo,” he laughed softly.

Eliot chuckled and Quentin closed his eyes as Eliot’s lips met with his briefly. “Not this kind of kiss. And I think I’m putting a few things together. I want to see.”

Eliot’s lips remained a breath away from his, just the barest brush of sensation, and it took Quentin a long moment to realize that he was waiting for a response. He slowly pressed his lips up against Eliot’s, startled when he immediately drew back. “...What?”

Eliot smirked. “You didn’t answer me,” he said with a sultry smirk. 

“I, uh… yeah, you can.”

“Good.”

Quentin felt a wave of lust slam through him as Eliot smiled down at him, eyes hungry and mouth amused before leaning down. He barely suppressed a whimper as Eliot’s tongue licked the seam of his lips before dipping inside. Quentin tilted his chin, seeking more, deeper,  _ all,  _ and Eliot grunted against his mouth, tugging at his lower lip before drawing away and studying his face. 

His eyes remained there as he sat up, looking thoughtful before moving to straddle Quentin’s hips. “Still good?” Quentin nodded, his voice lost for the moment. The air in the room felt charged, heavy, and the presence of Margo just inches away made it almost too intense, but he wondered if the answer as to why was here somewhere, waiting to be solved. If Eliot could already see it, perhaps, or had at least found the thread that would lead them there.

  
  


“So,” Eliot spoke, a hint of anxiety around his eyes. “I have an idea, but I’m going to need you to trust me.”

“Okay… with what?”

Eliot smirked, but there was still a hint of something bashful in it. “Well, first it would involve you actually acknowledging Bambi is in the room.”

Quentin felt himself blushing, but it was hard not to smile as he heard Margo snicker. “I’m… aware.”

“Uh-huh. I dare you to look at her right now.”

Quentin’s eyes widened in indignation, but Eliot only looked at him smugly, like he’d already won.

Shaking his head, Quentin turned his face to the side. “Hi, Margo.”

She pulled a surprised face. “Well hey there, Quentin. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fuck you,” he chuckled and she grinned. He turned his attention back to Eliot. “Acknowledged.”

Eliot nodded. “And now for the hard part where I get to talk about feelings.” He looked vaguely ill as he looked down at Quentin. “So, do you remember the day we talked about Margo?”

“Yes. Eliot, if you’re trying to force yourself into something here, don’t.” Eliot looked at him questioningly. “I want to be with you, not Margo.”

Eliot smiled slowly. “While I appreciate that deeply, that’s not where I was going with this.”

“Oh.” Quentin pressed his lips shut to indicate he’d be quiet.

“I think… there  _ are  _ things I’d like to share with Bambi,” he admitted, looking down towards Quentin’s chest. “Not everything,” he said quickly. “I just miss…”

“The connection?” Quentin supplied knowingly.

Eliot gave him a grateful look, nodding. “But I wouldn’t want it to be the same, because it’s not anymore, because… feelings? And while I’m probably the worst in this bed at taking direction--”

“--You wish,” Margo snorted.

Eliot wrinkled his nose, holding in a laugh. “Okay, while  _ you,”  _ he said, looking at Quentin, “are the obvious choice in this bed to take direction well, that’s not what I want, either. I think besides being entirely selfish, I may also be able to prove a point to you that you’ve been super fucking stubborn at accepting.”

“What would that be?” Quentin asked.

Eliot looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve said it in so many different ways already, I’m not sure which to go with this time. I guess I want to show you that you’re… important. To me,  _ and _ to Bambi.” Before Quentin could try to stammer out a response, Eliot looked to Margo. “So, I’m suggesting a role reversal of sorts.”

Quentin felt the mattress dip, and then Margo was seated near his shoulder, looking at Eliot in interest. “I’m listening.”

Eliot smiled down at Quentin. “I think I’d like Q to get the… ‘me’ treatment.”

Margo smirked. “So, I assume you’ll be playing the guy that’s been drooling over him all night?”

Eliot sighed happily. “I know, such a challenge.”

“Well, I am definitely going to be breaking out the big guns after I kick you both out later, but…” she shrugged. “I’m down. With a stipulation.” Eliot raised his brow in question. “I can’t exactly tell you what to do to Q when I don’t know what rocks his cock. But I know you, so you and I will be having a question and answer session. And you have to answer before I let you move on.”

Eliot seemed equally thrilled and terrified by the proposal, but after a moment he dipped his chin in a nod. “That may actually work better. Bravo, Bambi. Q?”

Quentin felt his face catch fire under the skin when Eliot’s hazel eyes fell on him. 

“I… what exactly is going to happen here?”

“We’ll keep it PG-13,” Eliot promised. “And if none of this sounds like something you’re into, you can let me watch Chief Hopper ride around in his truck some more, no harm done.” His teasing gaze faltered. “I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with. And Margo won’t touch you.”

“Hey, I am putting my whole hand in that hair. I’ve earned it.”

Quentin laughed softly before sighing and meeting Eliot’s eyes. “I… I’ll try, yeah. I guess.”

“Well, I’d prefer more enthusiasm,” Eliot said with a tilt of his brow, “but I think I’ll have it in about five minutes.”

Quentin lifted his own eyebrows. “Don’t get cocky.”

Eliot giggled. “Have we even met?” He looked happy now, excited, as he looked to Margo. “Bambi, are we good here?”

Margo looked them over as she reclined back onto her side, her elbow propped above Quentin’s shoulder and he soon felt her fingers slide through his hair. “This works for me, but I want you on the other side, to start.”

Eliot quickly hopped away from Quentin, mirroring Margo’s position on his other side. It was strange to see him so… compliant. 

“So Q,” Margo said. “If you need something, or want to stop, you tell me. Not Eliot. You’re both mine right now, and he’ll do as I say. Anything I say is going to be directed at him, unless you hear your name. As for you, I don’t want you to move or speak unless I tell you to. Sound good?”

Quentin glanced at Eliot to see his eyes fixed on Margo, full of admiration and more than a hint of lust.

“Yeah, I’ll um. Tell you.”

“Perfect. El, you may begin,” she said playfully.

Quentin held his breath as Eliot sat up on his side, his expression eager as he leaned down to kiss him gently with slow, teasing caresses of his lips. Margo’s fingernails danced over his scalp as Eliot deepened the kiss, and Quentin felt his knuckles brush against his jaw before his fingers traced the shell of his ear, causing him to shiver.

“That was nice,” Margo said in an appraising tone. “Now do it with your mouth.”

Quentin felt Eliot smile against his face before moving away, his lips following the path his hand had just taken, his tongue and teeth licking and grazing over Quentin’s jaw. Quentin gasped when Eliot nipped just under the curve, remembering the hickey he’d left there before, and a whispered moan left his lips as Eliot sucked at his earlobe a moment before tracing the line of his ear with his tongue. 

“What would you like to do now?” Margo asked.

The full weight of what Eliot had agreed to suddenly hit Quentin with the force of a hammer as he felt Eliot go still next to him. His mind started racing with ways to end this, not wanting Eliot to force himself to be vulnerable just to make him feel better. He could work on that on his own, he didn’t need--

“I want to kiss him,” Eliot spoke, his voice rough and quiet against Quentin’s ear.

There was a long pause before Bambi replied. “I’ll allow that.” She sounded pleased.

Eliot’s lips returned to his a moment later, briefly tender before they began drawing forcefully against Quentin’s own, pulling and tugging like Eliot needed something desperately and couldn’t ask for it. But they’d both agreed to the rules of this; Quentin couldn’t move. And Eliot had to ask. 

“What do you want, El?”

Eliot tore his mouth away from Quentin’s. “Let him touch me.” He sounded almost angry.

“Where?”

Quentin opened his eyes just in time to see Eliot rolling his. “No preference, Bambi.”

“Don’t get bitchy, we just started. Q, you can touch Eliot anywhere from the shoulders up.”

Quentin lifted his hands, his thumbs resting against the side of Eliot’s face as his fingers curled into his hair. The tension melted from Eliot’s eyes before he leaned in to continue their kiss, his tongue sliding against Quentin’s and his teeth gently scraping against his lip.

The intensity built quickly and soon Eliot was moaning against his mouth, plunging his tongue in, sucking and biting. This was what Quentin loved most of all; when Eliot kissed him like he was starving for it, when he fucked him with his tongue until he had to turn his head just to draw air before he passed out. He felt Eliot tug at his lip with his teeth before he spoke again. “I want on top of him.”

“Why?” Margo asked casually.

Quentin opened his eyes to watch Eliot's mouth twist angrily before he smoothed his expression, but his eyes were full of warning. “Because I want to feel him, okay?”

“Why is that, Eliot?”

Quentin almost opened his mouth to tell Margo to back off when Eliot’s expression turned pleading. His voice, however, was calm and controlled when he spoke. “I answered your question, Margo.”

“Hm, okay.” Margo didn’t sound affected at all. “Climb on up, then. And remember, Q,” Margo said. “Shoulders up, unless he asks.”

“Uh-huh,” was the only response he could manage as Eliot straddled him again, leaning down to brush his lips against Quentin’s forehead before licking back into his mouth. Quentin’s fingers curled against Eliot’s neck as he pulled him in closer, tilted his chin. He was falling again, that humid daze washing back over him, and without thinking he pushed his hips up, seeking friction. Eliot gasped harshly against his mouth and Quentin snapped gently at his lips in response.

Margo said nothing, so Quentin moved again, purposefully this time, grinding slowly as licked at the corner of Eliot’s mouth. 

“Oh, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” Eliot whispered brokenly as Quentin clenched his hands around Eliot’s shoulders, pushing him  _ down _ , wanting to feel Eliot against him, wanting to give him… so  _ much. _ He was lost now. Eliot could strip him and have him right in front of Margo and he honestly wouldn’t give a fuck.

“Eliot, what do you want?” Margo asked softly.

Eliot whimpered against Quentin’s lips, and Quentin tried to soothe his frustration, kissing him softly as he ran his fingers along the side of his face. Eliot started to turn towards his hand but went still. “...I want his fingers in my mouth.”

“Well, that’s half true,” she drawled. “Go for it.”

Quentin watched as Eliot’s larger hand covered his own, gathering his first two fingers together before licking between them in one long stroke. They hadn’t done this before, and Quentin was shocked by the sensation, a stuttered moan escaping him as his hips jerked. 

Eliot’s lips quirked with the ghost of a smile, and focusing his eyes on Quentin’s, drew the fingers into his mouth, sliding all the way down to his hand. He paused there before Quentin felt his tongue lay flat against his fingers and then Eliot  _ sucked  _ against them, his cheeks hollowing as he drew them out.

“Holy fuck,” Quentin whined, almost coming off the bed, his eyes rolling at the wet sound of Eliot’s mouth releasing him. 

“Oh sweetie, you have no idea what you’re in for,” Margo said, scratching her nails lightly against his scalp. “But I’m pretty sure Eliot’s had enough for now.” She chuckled. “Well, enough of me.” 

“Bambi, I’m fine,” Eliot rasped, his fingers still curled around Quentin’s. “Besides, we’ve barely started.” Even in his lustful haze, Quentin could see the tightness around Eliot’s eyes, though. Something wasn’t quite right, maybe hadn’t been for a minute? Maybe they did need a breather…

“Fine, El,” Margo spoke. “Petrichor.”

Quentin watched Eliot give Margo a stunned, wounded look. “Margo…”

“Are you of all people going to make me repeat myself?”

Eliot blinked, frowning, before he shook his head. “Of course not. Goodnight.”

Quentin felt dizzy when he saw how dark Eliot’s gaze had turned before he moved to stand from the bed, holding his hand out. Quentin took it and Eliot pulled him away from Margo and the bed to leave the room. 

  
  



	26. Feel Your Weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "You're the One That I Want" by Lo-Fang.
> 
> This is one of my chapters I have never been fully happy with. It was very difficult for me to explain what happened in the previous chapter and still have it come across as sincere dialogue. I do not know how many times I erased it and started over, but I hope this version works. If it doesn't, feel free to let me know and I'll try again!

_ Eliot _

Eliot was grateful for Quentin’s silence as they crossed the hall to his room and he closed the door behind him. Instead of flipping the lights on, he waved his hands to ignite the candles across his dresser before stepping past Quentin to walk towards his closet. His body felt like it was on auto-pilot as he removed his vest and shirt, hanging it near the back where he kept his dry-cleaning. After several moments, he heard the sounds of Quentin undressing behind him. 

He was removing his socks when Quentin finally spoke. “Um… So, did Margo just use a safe word in there?”

Eliot looked towards the flickering shadows across the wall, like a way to discuss this would suddenly present itself in clear, legible script. When it didn’t, he sighed, flicking his discarded sock to the floor. “She did.” 

“Oh. Okay.”

Hearing the worry in Quentin’s voice and knowing he would soon turn it against himself, Eliot forced himself to turn and cross the room, gently removing Quentin’s hands from the waist of his pants and taking over in undressing him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Q,” he promised, bending to push his pants down and waiting for him to step out of them, trying to ignore the fact that his cock was still very hard and very near Eliot’s face. 

“But… something went wrong, didn’t it?” he asked, sounding so concerned as he tried to toe off his socks like a monkey. Eliot closed his eyes, needing a moment to merge those two realities of his boyfriend into one being. 

“I… yes.  _ I _ did. Margo didn’t do that for herself.”

The worry in Quentin’s eyes deepened. “El, if I did something--”

“You could never,” Eliot assured him, cupping his square jaw in hand. “I just… got in my own head, is all.” He twisted his lips. “And Margo can be a bitch sometimes.” 

Quentin stepped closer, his erection just barely brushing against Eliot’s thigh through his boxers, and he had to shove down every inclination to just press his hand to it and escape all of this. Quentin would allow that, he knew, but taking that path was dangerous. It would get easier and easier to take, and Eliot couldn’t afford the risk of losing…

Quentin rested his hands on Eliot’s hips, looking up at him with worry. “I admit I was kind of… out of it? But I did notice something was off, and I should have said something. I just didn’t understand.”

“Oh, Q.” Eliot pulled him close, crading the back of his head. That needy, desperate thing that lived in him, that had almost broken free in Margo’s bed, was trying to claw its way to the surface again. He took a deep breath, shoved it down. “You had nothing to do with what happened.” Another breath. “Okay, that’s a lie. Just... Margo had a goddamn point to prove in there, and she did it stunningly. As always.” He leaned away enough to brush his thumb down Quentin’s face. “Can we lay down? I promise I’ll try to talk, I just need about fifteen cigarettes.”

“Can I have one of them?” 

Eliot smiled warmly down at him. “Maybe.”

They separated long enough to climb into bed, and Eliot lit two cigarettes from the packs on the nightstand, since Quentin kept some Camels there now, too. Handing Q’s over, he pulled him close, and Quentin rested his head on Eliot’s shoulder, lying on his back. Eliot watched the soft glow of the flickering candlelight dance across the ceiling as they smoked in silence, remembering all the times he’d gone to bed with the same view as a small child, smiling at the sight. He’d been blissfully ignorant then, not understanding no electricity meant his mother had spent the bill money on bourbon or pills again, or that it had just failed due to the ancient wiring of the house itself, leaving his father in a black mood for days over the time or money he’d spent to fix it.

Quentin coughed quietly, pulling Eliot from his memories. Talking suddenly seemed vastly better than getting lost in his own thoughts. He took another drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. “Something… fell into place for me tonight. And I felt so clever for figuring it out that I didn’t think things through.”

“Okay?” Quentin waved his cigarette in his hand, and Eliot passed the ashtray to him, watching him settle it on his chest. 

“I’ve believed you, when you’ve told me you don’t want to be with Margo. But there’s always been this… nervousness about you when she’s around. And it finally clicked in my head earlier and all I could see was this way to kill two birds with one stone.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “And instead I bashed myself in the head with the fucking rock.”

Quentin was quiet for a moment, tapping his cigarette against the crystal ashtray. “Well, I wish you’d tell me about the Margo part, because I’ve been wondering that myself.”

“Q, I could be wrong. And I’ll accept it if you get pissed off, but… based on things you’ve said and what I’ve seen, I think you’ve just been scared Margo hasn’t accepted you. Us.” He slid his hand over Quentin’s brow and through his hair. “I wanted you to see that she does. She doesn’t just want me to be happy, she wants  _ you _ to be happy. Individually, from me.”

There was a beat before Quentin spoke. “She called me her best friend this morning.”

The utter disbelief in his voice made Eliot smile sadly. “You  _ are.  _ And I wanted to show you that. And I wanted to share what I…  _ feel  _ for you with her. I wanted to make you feel special.”

“Eliot, you did.” Quentin reached back for his hand, and Eliot wanted to cry. Because it was very obvious Quentin was letting him hide, just a little, by not turning to face him. Eliot handed off his cigarette butt to be put out and curled his fingers around Quentin’s after. “You said Margo had a point to prove?”

“I’m not sure she did at first. Bambi’s best ideas come to her in the moment. But she… saw something. She wanted to call it, and I just kept pushing.”

“I… honestly didn’t notice any of that.”

Eliot smiled again, combing through his hair. “Yeah, we probably need to have a conversation about sub space soon. We’ll get there. But there was some heavy eye contact from her that you missed out on.”

“O-Okay. I can table that part for now. But why would you push?”

And this was the hard part, the part where he couldn’t hide. Eliot patted at Quentin’s shoulder to ask him to sit up before sliding up to rest against the headboard. Giving in just for something to fidget with, Eliot lit another cigarette as Quentin moved to sit near his knee, waiting. 

He focused his eyes on the mattress, trying to gather his thoughts. But really, he knew he was trying to find some magical way to explain things to Quentin without revealing too much of himself. “Q… Margo saw what I thought I wanted her to. How much I… care about you. I mean, I hope that’s obvious, but at the same time…” He took a nearly dizzying drag from his cigarette “I didn’t account for how easily she just sees  _ through _ me, how  _ much  _ she’d see. And as soon as it started, I just wanted to run. And it fucked me up, because that’s never happened, not with her. It wasn’t jealousy. I was fine with her seeing us together, just…” He looked to the ceiling. “I am so fucking bad at this.”

“No, El. I’m following. Just… take your time. Hand me another?”

Eliot reached over for the Camels, tossing the pack and a wry, crooked smile at his boyfriend. “You’re following? I’m not sure  _ I  _ am.”

Quentin returned his smile before pressing his lips around the filter of his cigarette and lighting it. “I mean, I think I am. You’ve been with Margo. And she’s seen you with… others. I’m assuming that you were different with me, and that’s what freaked you out? Her seeing that?”

Eliot squinted. “Partially? I guess that’s a very basic way of putting it.”

“Well, any other way seemed kind of full of myself or likely to have me pulling you out from under the bed.” He winced a little before pulling from his cigarette. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s fair,” Eliot chuckled. “My tolerance for vulnerability is remarkably low.” He tapped the ashes from his smoke before taking another drag. “She saw something I can’t talk about, Q. Something I can’t admit, or let you see. And her seeing it just made it so  _ hard  _ to hold it in. So I tried to hide behind the physical part of it. I tried to push past it, even though I was falling apart from it.”

Quentin’s brow was furrowed deeply. “But… why did  _ she _ keep pushing you like that?”

Eliot shook his head before meeting Quentin’s eyes. “Because she’s done. I know we haven’t been… together very long. But Bambi’s been putting up with my fucked up way of denying my feelings for you for a long time, especially the part where I use sex to hide from them.” Eliot looked away, had to. His cigarette wasn’t even halfway gone, and he already craved another. “The fact I still tried while literally riding you just pissed her off. Especially when it was so glaringly obvious to both of us.” Another draw, and Eliot sighed smoke from his lips as a darkly humorous thought crossed his mind. “But, um, sorry that your first foray into threesomes got so fucked up.”

Quentin huffed out a laugh. “No, when you look at my sex life as a whole, it’s probably pretty on par.” He put out his cigarette barely smoked, and pushed the ashtray away from him. “El, I want to say something. But I don’t know if it will make things better for you, or…  _ really  _ worse.”

Feeling Quentin’s gaze on him, Eliot put out his own cigarette and moved the ashtray back to his nightstand. “Well… okay. Is eye contact required?”

“No, you don’t have to. It’s just… what you’re hiding from me?” Eliot held his breath. “I already know.”

Eliot inhaled slowly, but his gaze was sharp as it landed on Quentin. He looked… so calm. Sympathetic. Hopeful? 

He curled his knees up, holding them to his chest. “Quentin, you can’t.”

“Maybe not. Not all of it. Just… enough? Margo, she made me look at her pictures of us today. I wasn’t going to. That’s what we were doing this morning when you came back. She wanted me to see how you feel. Felt. And… I did. Finally.”

Eliot shook his head. “That’s… um, scary. Admitted. But that’s still just how much I was willing to show at the time.”

“Eliot…” Quentin reached out and Eliot gave him his hand, grasping it tightly. “I just want you to don’t  _ have _ to hide, because I feel the same way.”

And Eliot didn’t mean to, but he laughed. He snapped his mouth shut, looking at Quentin apologetically, but Quentin only looked confused, not hurt. “I’m sorry. But... you can’t feel this, not the way I do. How fucking… terrified I am. I… It helped me, some, to know I wasn’t the only one that wanted this from the beginning, but… Quentin, you weren’t  _ there  _ at the beginning. Not mine.”

Quentin’s brow furrowed, puzzling over the words. “But you said--”

“I know what I said.” Eliot could feel the tears coming, because this was happening. He’d lost the battle. The part of him he hated the most, the biggest part of him, the thing that ruled him no matter how  _ hard _ he tried to shut it the fuck up; it would have its say. “I wanted that to be it. It was… romantic, and beautiful, the two of us coming together to find out we’d wanted each other all along. And I’m not trying to take away from that at all. It’s still true. Just…” Eliot’s breath hitched as he looked to Quentin, and he took a deep breath, finally giving it release. 

His desperation. 

“You can’t know what this is like, because I’ve _always_ wanted you. Before I... ever saw your face, or knew your name. I dreamed about someone _just_ like you. The idea of you made things bearable. Until it didn’t. Until it hurt too much to believe it. You were... the brother that didn’t hit me, and the friend that defended me, and every _awful_ romantic cliche you can think of after that. I wanted to go on walks and tell you all my secrets. I fantasized about the house we would live in down to the throw pillows,” he laughed wetly. “And I wanted someone to talk to, _so_ much. I got so _angry_ that I couldn’t have this _one_ thing I wanted when my entire life was shit. And I saw other people getting what I wanted, and it was so easy for them. And I knew if I even tried…” Eliot sniffled, his nose wrinkling as he closed his eyes. “I learned that I wasn’t allowed, over and over again. So I told myself you didn’t exist, not for someone like me.” 

He shook his head, his voice thick as he continued. “By the time I left there and saw things could maybe be different… all I could do was run from it. It was so much easier, just taking what was given. And, God, people will give you so much if you act like you don’t care. And when I realized you were  _ you,  _ that you existed? I wasn’t me anymore. I wasn’t anyone that could  _ deserve  _ you. A-And I told myself that was fine. I could have a little of you, maybe. A taste. But the longer I’ve known you. Everything about you, Quentin… your smile, and your honesty, and how you’re so goddamn brave… how you  _ believe  _ in things. It’s like there’s this ghost in me, except it  _ is  _ me? It’s the part of me that’s been waiting…” Eliot sobbed, choking on it. “I want you, Q. I do. But that part of me, that  _ need…  _ I’d tear you apart with it.”

Eliot turned his head away when he felt Quentin’s touch on his legs, as his knees were pulled down towards the bed and Quentin climbed into his lap. He wanted to crawl away from the hands on his shoulder, from those  _ eyes  _ on him. Eyes that could now see what a broken mess he really was, how absolutely pathetic he’d always been behind his carefully constructed persona.

Quentin didn’t make him look, didn’t try to turn his head. He pressed his forehead to Eliot’s temple, kissed the moisture from his cheek. His fingers moved up into Eliot’s hair, soft and slow, as one would soothe a frightened animal. His other hand slid down Eliot’s arm, lifting it until Eliot’s hand was on his hip. He held it there because it was what Quentin wanted from him, but he couldn’t allow himself to dig his fingers in, to give that need in him any more freedom. He’d give Quentin what he wanted, always, but he wouldn’t let himself take. 

“Eliot, kiss me,” Quentin breathed near his ear.

Eliot turned his head, catching Quentin’s lip between his own. He kept his touch light and careful, even when he felt Quentin’s hands on his face trying to draw him closer, pull him in. 

Quentin’s lips were tender, but insistent. He licked against Eliot’s lip, tilting his head to press his tongue inside, moved against Eliot’s so slowly it felt like a dream. The small, wet sounds of Quentin’s lips against his sounded beautifully in his ears, and he wanted to give in so badly. It hurt so much not to, but it would hurt  _ so  _ much more if he did. 

“I’m sorry,” he heard Quentin whisper between pulls on his lips. “I’m here now.”

The words hit Eliot like a punch to his gut, and a humiliating hiccup of a cry was forced from his throat. Quentin kissed him through it, bringing his hands up to cradle Eliot’s face, and when he felt Quentin’s tongue move against his, Eliot surged forward to capture it. His hands moved to capture everything else, holding Quentin by the back of the neck and thigh, gripping bruisingly, and Quentin  _ melted  _ against him, like he was relieved for it. Eliot’s lips devoured Quentin’s and Quentin only acted like it wasn’t enough, pulling him forward by his neck, pulling Eliot on top of him as he lay back on the bed. 

“Q,” he whispered raggedly, then let out a stuttered cry as Quentin wrapped his legs around Eliot’s hips, grinding up against him.

“Show me,” Quentin growled against his chin, his teeth scraping the stubble there.

“What do you want, baby?” In that moment, Eliot would’ve given him anything. 

“All of you,” Quentin moaned, his hand clenching in Eliot’s hair roughly. 

Eliot blinked, reality forcing its way in and he looked down at Quentin in concern. “Q, you don’t mean… I’m sorry, I don’t think…”

Quentin searched his eyes, the lustful daze dissipating slightly as he caught up. “Uh… no. Just…  _ you,  _ Eliot. Don’t hide from me, please? I want all of you.”

Eliot felt tears gathering in his eyes again, looking down into Quentin’s soft, pleading face, his flushed skin and parted lips.  _ “Why?  _ Q, I’m--”

“I know what you are, El. You accept every shitty thing about me, why can’t you let me do that for you?”

“Quentin, you’re not--”

“Don’t,” he laughed, brushing his thumb over Eliot’s lip. “I have bitten your head off so many times. I’ve been terrible to you.”

“You were depressed.”

“Yeah. And you still took care of me, even when I hated you for it. You made sure I was eating, and spent time with me, and held me even though I probably reeked.”

Eliot chuckled.  _ “So  _ much.” He sighed. “But… I’m…  _ inside,  _ I’m petty, and possessive and so goddamn  _ needy.  _ If I let myself be that…”

“If you can handle me, I can handle you. You just have to trust me.”

“Of  _ course  _ I trust you.”

“Then fucking show me,” Quentin demanded softly, pulling Eliot down towards his lips. Something about it went straight to Eliot’s dick and he had to bite back the “yes, sir” that almost sprang from his mouth. Still, maybe something to explore another time.

Quentin’s kiss bordered on cruel when their lips met this time, sucking at Eliot’s lip and biting, trying to draw Eliot out of himself, to make him give in. His hands clenched on Eliot’s shoulders, and he rose up to grind his cock against Eliot’s through their underwear and Eliot…

Just gave in.

He let himself feel everything, all of it, and it  _ did  _ hurt, but the pain was exquisite. Eliot lifted himself on one arm, using his leverage to take control of the kiss, using his other hand to hold Quentin’s jaw firmly in place as he kissed him reverently, shaking with it, before he dove back into his mouth. Quentin whimpered, his hands moving over Eliot’s back, his fingers clenching into his shoulder blades. Eliot teasingly moved his hips, drawing just close enough to touch but not enough for friction, and an idea crossed his mind. 

He drew away just enough to see Quentin’s face, because he needed to know, needed to see. “Q, I wanna blow you,” he whispered, watching as the man’s eyes flew open. “Are you ready for that?”

“I, uh… yeah? Y-Yes.”

“Good. Strip and sit up on the edge of the bed, please.” 

Eliot untangled himself from his boyfriend and left the bed to stand near the edge, waiting for Quentin to fumble out of his underwear (which landed somewhere beyond Eliot’s bathroom door, possibly in the sink) and position himself. When he went still, Eliot moved to stand between his parted knees, running his fingers lightly up and down Quentin’s thighs, watching him shiver from the touch. It was a heady thing, to see Quentin staring up at him in the candlelight, all tawny brown and golden, his eyes so warm and trusting. Eliot smiled, taking a moment to file the memory away. 

“What?” Quentin asked, looking up at him shyly. 

“You’re beautiful. I want to take pictures of you just like this.” He grinned as Quentin sputtered wordlessly. “No worries. I have a lot of confidence-boosting work to do with you before I ask for that.” He ran his thumb down the side of Quentin’s face. “I just wanted to tell you.” 

Then, Eliot smirked, lifting his hands before him to cast a silencing ward on the room.

“Was that necessary?” Quentin asked, trying to sound mocking but too breathless to pull it off. 

“I could remove it,” he offered, leaning down close. “If you’re into that.  _ I’m  _ into that.”

Quentin laughed silently, leaning up to kiss him. Eliot combed his fingers through his hair as he returned the kiss, but didn’t allow Quentin to deepen it. His boyfriend would kiss for hours if given the opportunity, and while he absolutely loved that about him, Eliot was ready to worship him in other ways. 

His bed frame set high from the floor, giving him a perfect angle for this with his height, and he pulled Quentin by his hips to get him right where he wanted him, placing the heels of his feet on the side rail as he parted his thighs. “Comfortable?” he asked, looking up to check in.

Quentin only nodded, looking slightly overwhelmed but in the best of ways. Eliot smiled deviously, lightly running his fingers down the inside of his thighs before gripping underneath and leaning forward to finally, finally touch his tongue to the head of Quentin’s cock. 

Quentin immediately moaned loudly and Eliot grinned as he laved his tongue over the head, his mouth filling with saliva. He wanted Q wet for this, wanted him completely undone. Eliot was patient, kissing and licking and swirling his tongue until he felt there was enough moisture to work with. He then curled his fingers under the head and squeezed down, following his fist with his mouth, removing his hand when it got in the way of taking Quentin down to the base. He held there, flattening his tongue and curling it before drawing back up, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked. 

_ “FUCK,”  _ Quentin growled, his legs quivering around Eliot’s face, his fingernails skittering across Eliot’s scalp. 

“Mmm,” Eliot hummed happily, sliding off with a wet “pop” as he looked up into Quentin’s startled, blown pupils. “Good?” He bit his lip teasingly. 

When Quentin only nodded jerkingly, Eliot reached his hand up to find Quentin’s in his hair, moving it towards the back of his head. “Wanna make me this time?”

Quentin’s eyes darted over his face, not quite understanding, so Eliot took his cock past his lips again and pressed his hand against Quentin’s. He got the idea then, but just barely applied any pressure, too timid to be rough. Eliot didn’t want to pause for a conversation, so he allowed it. There were other ways, and he was more than willing to work for it. 

It didn’t take long. Eliot used all his skill, marveling at the sounds Quentin made for him. High whines, breathy sighs, low moans and grunts, and  _ so  _ much cursing. Eliot looked up, catching Quentin’s gaze as he held himself at the base, tears prickling his eyes as he started to choke, letting Quentin  _ see  _ him and everything he felt. 

And that's what did it. His eyes fell shut as Quentin’s hands pressed against the back of his head, pulling him back enough to breathe, waiting, and then pressing him back down slowly before he fucked his mouth. Eliot moaned around his cock to encourage him and Quentin whimpered, thrusting harder. Eliot clenched at Quentin’s thighs; harder. 

He was completely lost in moments as Quentin finally fucked his mouth in earnest, his breath coming in quick, loud pants, his hand fisting in Eliot’s hair. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Quentin’s pained, ecstatic expression, his teeth bared before his mouth fell open. “Eliot, Eliot I’m gonna…”

Eliot nodded, holding Quentin against the back of his throat as he moved his tongue against him and Quentin  _ sobbed,  _ pulling tightly at his hair as he emptied into his mouth, falling back against the bed a little. 

When it was over, he stood on aching knees, smiling at the view. Quentin’s sweat glistened in the candlelight, his hair damp, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Eliot crawled up beside him to lay on his side. “Good, baby?” he asked, trailing his fingers over the heated flesh of his stomach.

“Fuck,” Quentin panted. “I-I wanna try to return the favor, but… that was…”

“Oh, you’re done for the night,” Eliot chuckled, kissing his damp temple. 

“But.”

“We have tomorrow. I wanna hold you, okay?” 

After a moment, Quentin nodded, curling in close to Eliot’s side. Eliot waved the candles out, and reached back for a blanket. They were sideways in the bed, but he didn’t care at the moment. They could find pillows later. 

He held Quentin as his breathing evened, then slowed. As he very lightly began to snore against Eliot’s neck. Eliot smiled in the darkness, his lashes wet as he pressed a kiss to his forehead. He wasn’t a believer, hadn’t been since he was a child. 

But in that moment, he sent out a silent thank you to anything that might be listening that Quentin had finally found him.

  
  
  



	27. King And Lionheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song by Of Monsters and Men.
> 
> Have a chapter before I go to bed, just because I like to wake up to comments! Also, thank you so much for your kind comments on the previous chapter. I'm glad to know I managed to get Eliot's thought process out there; it was a struggle. 
> 
> This chapter is kind of a bridge; not a lot happens, but there's at least some fluff and some laughing. I'll post another in the morning.

_ Quentin _

Quentin woke up the next morning to find himself in his usual place on Eliot’s bed, his head nestled into one of the down pillows. He didn’t remember waking long enough to move, but it didn’t seem worth worrying about. 

Finding Eliot’s bent knee in his field of vision, he followed it up to his bare thigh, the dark, sparse hair a startling contrast to the porcelain of his skin, and… 

Eliot was naked.

Quentin was still naked too, but he was nested within the blanket, and Eliot… wasn’t. No, he was leaned up against the headboard, a book propped on his bent knee, smoking and…

Wearing his glasses.

Eliot was obviously invested in whatever he was reading, his brow furrowed slightly as his eyes moved over the page. Quentin watched his lips purse as he drew from his cigarette, watched him chew at his lip thoughtfully as he exhaled smoke. His curls were a riot on top of his head, and Quentin remembered how thoroughly he’d messed them up the night before. That made him remember everything else; Eliot’s eyes staring up at him heatedly, how his cheeks had hollowed out, how bruised his lips had looked right after and…

“Can I take your picture?”

Eliot’s eyes widened, startled, before he looked over to Quentin. “Um, good morning? Also, what?”

“I want to take your picture.”

“Why?” He asked, obviously puzzled.

“Because you’re literally the hottest I’ve ever seen you right now.”

Eliot looked down at himself and back to Quentin with an incredulous expression.  _ “This  _ is what does it for you?” he asked flatly.

“Mm-hm.”

Eliot shook his head with a sigh, blinking slowly under raised eyebrows, but he did reach over to the nightstand, handing Quentin his phone. “Use mine, the camera is better,” he said with a low laugh, returning his attention to his book. 

Quentin took several shots as the minutes passed, until his need for the bathroom and a long shower could no longer be ignored. He sat up, texting the photos to his number before an idea crossed his mind. “Want me to send them to Margo?”

Eliot gave Quentin an impressed look. “I mean, you can.” Then, his eyes flashed and Quentin could  _ see  _ the evil brewing there. “I have a better idea, though. Before you wash your hair; it looks  _ so _ wrecked right now.”

“Wait… me?”

Eliot nodded, grinning. 

“Why would Margo want pictures of me?”

_ “Us,  _ Q. Let me? Any and all approval is in your hands before I press send. I promise.”

Eliot was almost giddy from whatever plot had hatched in his brain. “”I mean, okay?”

Eliot grabbed his phone from Quentin’s hand. “Lay down and face away from me.”

Quentin sighed, but moved himself the way Eliot wanted him. He waited as Eliot pressed close behind him, and watched as his phone floated in the air before them a moment later. “Oh, this is how Margo takes all those pictures.”

“Some of them. Now, this will take some acting, but I have every faith in my skill as a director,” Eliot told him as he leaned over him slightly to open the camera app. 

“I already know this is a bad idea,” Quentin muttered, but Eliot was happy, so he decided he would see it through. 

“Hush, let me create.”

Quentin snorted. 

On the screen, he could see Eliot’s face next to his, and the phone was positioned just far enough away to include Quentin’s shoulder and the top of his bicep in frame. “I think this will work. Okay if I put you where I want you?”

_ Just at any time whatsoever,  _ Quentin thought. “Sure.”

He watched Eliot kiss his cheek on the screen, felt the warmth of it, before Eliot tilted his chin up. “Close your eyes for a sec?” Quentin smiled but did so. He felt Eliot messing with his hair, touching his throat, and at one point he felt him grip under his jaw in that  _ perfect  _ way as he pressed his teeth to the side of his face, all while the camera clicked away. What the fuck was he doing? 

“Okay, now open your eyes just a little. Yes, like that.”

Quentin saw himself on the screen, and immediately went red in the face. He watched as Eliot nuzzled his cheek. ‘Click.’ Pressed his tongue to the corner of Quentin’s mouth. ‘Click.’ 

Then, Eliot traced his thumb over Quentin’s lips. “Open?” he asked sweetly. 

“Oh, my God,” Quentin breathed, but opened his mouth, and Eliot pressed his forehead to his temple as he dragged his thumb down Quentin’s lip. ‘Click.’  __

Eliot released him and Quentin rolled over to curl into his side as he opened the phone’s photo gallery to look at his work. 

Quentin felt heat slam into his face like a sauna when he saw the thumbnails. “Eliot, it looks like we’re--”

“I  _ know,”  _ his boyfriend practically purred with satisfaction, opening the first one. “You’re a great model, Q.”

Quentin pressed his scorching face against Eliot’s chest. “Are you sending them?”

“Only if you’re okay with it.”

“I mean, I guess I just don’t see the point?”

“Oh. Easy. These are payback for all her meddling. I won’t say it didn’t help at all, but I’m still feeling a little bitchy about it.”

“Well… okay. You can send them.”

Eliot did so immediately and Quentin left the bed to put his clothes from the day before on so he could leave the room for a shower. He leaned towards the bed to kiss Eliot before walking to the door. 

The chime of a notification sounded through the room just before Quentin turned the knob, and he watched Eliot unlock his phone and then start giggling helplessly. “I don’t know if I’d brave that hallway right now,” Eliot told him. 

“Is she mad?”

“Oh, just like, 10 rows of middle finger emojis mad.” Eliot shrugged.

Quentin chuckled, opening the door. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

*

_ Alice _

Alice straightened her shoulders and repositioned the strap of the bag that lay on her shoulder before knocking on the door to Julia’s dorm room that afternoon. The Knowledge dorms were so much  _ quieter  _ than the cottage; she felt almost guilty for disturbing the silence.

The door opened moments later, revealing Julia’s large brown eyes, which narrowed in confusion. “Um. Hi, Alice.”

“Hi. I was wondering if you had a minute?”

Julia looked to the large bag resting against Alice’s hip, frowning, but opened the door to allow Alice into her modest dorm room. It was smaller than Alice’s own, but paneled in rich, warm woodgrain. There were far more decorations, too, and Alice’s eyes swept over the many pictures Julia had displayed around. Seeing Quentin’s face in several gave her a tiny smile. “I actually came to talk to you about helping Quentin.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I spoke to the dean this morning. I wanted to offer my help. To find Mark and maybe even remove the anchor spell on him?”

Julia looked at her doubtfully. “Alice, I can’t really talk about Q’s situation with you, not without asking him.”

Alice shook her head. “Of course not. It’s just.” She winced. “The situation’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” Julia looked to the floor, eyes dark, so Alice pressed on. “And it’s not like I want details. God, no. It’s just… I’m good at magic. Probably as good as you. I thought if we worked together, maybe we could crack something.”

She watched Julia consider it before she met Alice’s eyes. “I’d have to ask Q first, but what do you have in mind?”

“Fogg said you had interview transcripts, from the other victims?” Julia nodded. “I figured we could go through those and figure out what information they’re unable to tell anyone. See what matches up. It would help to determine the spell used and how to remove it. I also checked out some books on spell removals, but I have most of the pertinent volumes on Secrets magic in my room already.”

“You’re studying Secrets magic?”

Alice nodded. “For my own research, but yes. And I thought, if Quentin agrees, maybe he would be willing to talk to us. If he was comfortable with that, I mean. He could give us more insight into how the spell works.” Seeing Julia look doubtful, Alice frowned. “You don’t think he’d agree to it?”

Julia grimaced. “He might, but I’m not so sure Eliot would.”

“Oh.” That took Alice aback a little. “I guess he’s…”

“Protective as shit? You could say that,” the dark-haired woman laughed lowly. “After what happened at the party, I don’t know how he’d react.”

“Well, it’s Quentin’s choice, really, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I also don’t want to start anything between them.” She sighed, turning to pull her cell phone from its charger on the bed and taking a seat. “All I can do is ask, right?”

*

An hour later, Alice followed Julia into the Physical Kids cottage with a game plan and instructions to meet in Eliot’s bedroom for privacy. Entering behind Julia, she saw Margo and Eliot seated side by side against the headboard of the bed, with Quentin leaning back against Eliot’s chest, bracketed by the taller man’s knees. The position was possessive and intimate, and Alice felt a slight blush on her face as she met Eliot’s cool gaze. He didn’t look angry, but he definitely wasn’t pleased. 

Margo looked angry enough for all three of them, all business as she clasped her hands in her lap. “So, what’s the point of this again? Why interrogate Q when we already know he can’t say shit?”

Julia met Margo’s ire bravely, hopping up on the bed across from her. That left Alice a spot at Eliot’s feet. Great. She moved her bag into the middle of the bed and hopped up, carefully arranging her skirt as she took a seat. 

“We just think knowing Quentin like we do may help us. The other victims are talking to strangers. They’re terrified. They don’t trust that Brakebills can protect them. One is staying in the Clean room, but the others are still out there. And Alice has been studying this kind of magic. If we can pinpoint what spell Mark is using, we can find a way to remove it. But as of right now, we don’t know exactly what information it’s concealing,” Julia told them.

“And also, there are different removal spells,” Alice added. “Some can be cast from a distance.”

“And the others?” Eliot asked, his gaze direct.

“Some require sight or touch,” she admitted. 

Eliot rolled his eyes angrily, resting his head back against the headboard. 

“I want to help,” Quentin spoke up. “You can ask me anything from… before or after. That’s fine, if it helps at all.”

Alice smiled gratefully at him before retrieving the questions Julia had helped her put together from her bag. “Thank you, Quentin. So, we already know you can’t mention Mark by name.” She flinched a little as one of Eliot’s windows slid open with a creak, letting in a draft of cool air. She was confused until Eliot reached for a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and handing it to Quentin before settling his arms around the man’s waist. Quentin pressed back against him, and Alice looked away. 

“Okay. Can you tell us where you were? When it, um, happened?”

“Um, the safehouse. Marina’s, I guess.”

“Is that where it occurred?”

Eliot  _ glared  _ at her.

Quentin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again with a frown. “I, uh, can’t say.” Alice jotted down his answer. 

“Can you nod?”

Quentin was still for a moment. “Actually, no. Fuck.”

“Okay, that takes out several possibilities. Anything that’s only verbal wasn’t used.” Alice pulled another paper from the bag, crossing out several of the spells she’s written down from a list. “Can you tell me the color of the last drink you had that night?”

A beat. “No.”

“Can you name a color right now at all?” 

Quentin’s brow quirked as he exhaled smoke. “Purple?”

“Was that the color of the drink?”

“No.”

Alice nodded, crossing one more spell from the list. “Can you name the street the safehouse is located on?”

“No, but I never saw it. I wasn’t familiar with the area, we just followed Kady.”

“Okay. I doubt it’s an area of effect thing, but maybe I can find another way to figure that out. Okay, can you tell me who was there that night, before it happened?”

“Julia. Kady. Marina and Pete. I met a girl, Ashley, I think? And…” Quentin went quiet. 

“There was someone else?”

“Yeah. I can’t say his name, either.”

Alice crossed five more spells from the list. “Julia, you may want to tell Marina there could be another victim in the safehouse.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I think I know what spell Mark is using, but it’s… insanely risky.”

“How?” Margo asked.

“I just mean the spell on Quentin is very complex and intricate, and I think he’s just casting Mercer’s Quick Alibi on himself, which is just sloppy in comparison.”

“I know that spell,” Eliot scoffed.

“But we know Mark didn’t write the anchor spell on Quentin,” Julia said. “Maybe Bayati or whoever supplied him with it didn’t offer him any additional protection for what he’s using it for. Maybe they don’t even  _ know  _ what he’s using it for.”

“Doubtful,” Margo replied with a scowl. “What the fuck else would you use it for?”

“I mean, espionage, maybe,” Quentin suggested with a shrug. “The really fucked up kind.”

“Well, the Alibi spell can be removed really easily.” She grimaced. “It does require touch, though.”

“Dumb question, but if the spell is still active, he’s alive, right?” Eliot asked.

Alice nodded. “Yes. The spell requires very little energy, but it would wear off if he was dead, probably within hours.”

“Would he know at the time if someone removed it?” Margo asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s really little more than a charm. The thing is, it hides anything involving the crime. For example, if anyone has seen him with a victim, no one would remember that victim’s name. Shit, I should have asked my dad.”

“What?” Margo looked at her pointedly.

“I called my dad yesterday because I recognized Mark from one of my parent’s sex parties.” Eliot pulled a surprised face, which she ignored. “I didn’t really tell him much, just that Mark was casting unethical spells, really. He mentioned Mark bringing different dates to those parties. God,  _ I’ve _ probably seen one of them before.” The thought made her nauseous. “That’s why this spell is so risky, though. How has no one put it together?”

“Probably a dozen other spells,” Julia explained. “Fogg said they can’t get a bead on him anywhere. His work is probably warded, his home.” She sighed, looking at Alice. “We should probably interview the guy in the Clean room again. I think his name’s Joey? We can see if he has the Alibi on him too, or something different.”

Alice nodded. “That could get us somewhere.” She looked to Quentin. “Thank you. This may have helped a lot.”

Quentin shrugged, smiling a bit. “It’s fine. If you guys need anything else, let me know.”

Seeing Quentin with Eliot wrapped around him and Margo sitting like a lioness at his side, Alice knew Quentin was in good hands. She only hoped she could do a small part to help him, too. Packing her notes away, she followed Julia out the door.

*

_ Quentin _

No one spoke for a moment after Alice and Julia exited the room, until Eliot took the cigarette from Quentin’s fingers to finish it. “You okay?” he asked, sounding a little fragile himself.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Quentin said, leaning his head back on Eliot’s collar bone. “I mean, if it helped, I’d talk about it. If that were possible.”

“It will be,” Eliot assured him, hugging him gently. 

Quentin smiled wryly. “Do you think you were jealous enough, though?”

Eliot and Margo both laughed at that, and Eliot playfully chewed at his ear. “Shut it. She still wants your dick.”

“She does  _ not.  _ She didn’t even have my dick, it was… horny fox dick.”

“How is that any different from what I said?”

“Oh, my God,” Quentin groaned. 

“I think she’s just imagining the two of you boning,” Margo said. “At least  _ I _ have pics to show what you might look like with a dick in your mouth, Coldwater.” Quentin blushed hotly, sitting up and grabbing the bottle of water from the nightstand before he seated himself across from Eliot. 

“Bambi, Q still has a virgin mouth, don’t tease him.” He looked at Quentin with a mockery of innocence before adding, “Last night was all about my mouth.”

Bambi grinned saucily. “Is that right? I always imagined he had a nice, polite cock.”

Eliot nodded at the assessment. “He does.” Then, he grinned evilly. “But there’s nothing polite about the way he uses it.”

“I’m going to my room,” Quentin announced loudly, scrambling from the bed and leaving Margo and Eliot cackling behind him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	28. I'd Leave Him Alone

_ Margo _

Tuesday evening found Margo tipsy, her head resting in Eliot’s lap on the sectional sofa as he studied another goddamn book. She knew better than to bring up his sudden interest in reading, and so did Quentin, both of them aware that he was silently freaking out over his upcoming studies with Sunderland; she’d caught Eliot reading books from first year-- books he’d never opened because he’d paid for the answers instead. Eliot and Margo both had learned every spell required of them at Brakebills, but when it came to exams on dead languages or essays on theoretical circumstances, they’d skipped everything possible. 

But Eliot wasn’t completely ignoring her; his free hand was combing through her hair, so she decided giving him shit could still wait. Quentin was on the floor in front of them, nestled into the crook of the couch, also studying. Her boys were fucking boring sometimes. 

Still, Quentin’s hair was in reach, and she found herself twirling the soft strands through her fingers. It really wasn’t fair how some men had such pretty hair when they didn’t do an ounce of work for it.

“Guys?”

Margo turned her head to see Alice standing before them, twitchy and nervous as always, looking like she wanted to disappear when the cut of her skirt said she wanted just the opposite. Eliot didn’t look up from his book.  _ Petty bitch,  _ she thought, biting back a smile. 

“Hey, Alice,” Margo greeted her casually, sitting up. “Looks like you’ve got news?”

“Yes, actually. We interviewed Joey after classes today, Julia and I. And I think we may know where Mark works. Which office plaza, at least. If they locate him, they’re thinking of letting me go to try to reverse the spell.”

“You’re going?” Quentin asked. “Why?”

“Well, my Discipline would allow me to turn invisible after I touch him. I wouldn’t be alone, of course.”

“And how are you planning on getting close to him?” Margo asked doubtfully.

Alice tilted her head a bit. “I just thought I’d walk up to him and brush his arm or something.” Her nose wrinkled. “It can’t be that hard. There’s a courtyard in front of the plaza, and it’s usually busy during the day. It would be easy to run into him when he was coming or going.”

Margo laughed, setting her drink aside. “Easy, huh? Quinn, have you ever had to do anything under pressure?”

Alice’s blue eyes flared defensively. “Of course I have.”

“Like what?”

Alice didn’t respond, clearly trying to think of an example, and Margo stood from the sofa, smoothing down her red sheath dress. “Forget I asked. Look, you go to the front door. We’re going to walk towards each other, and I want you to show me how  _ easy  _ it’s going to be for you to pull this off.”

Alice looked briefly terrified before her expression shifted to one of defiance. It was kind of hot. “Fine.” Margo watched her twitch off towards the door with an assessing glance, and not for the first time. She didn’t often get boners for girls, but… she’d definitely done worse. 

Margo walked to the edge of the room, waited for Alice to get in position, and then they began walking towards one another. Margo kept her pace steady and didn’t meet Alice’s eye. 

Just before they passed one another, Alice briefly touched Margo’s arm and she came to a halt, looking at her expectantly. “Can I help you?” she asked smoothly. 

“I, um. No? I was just...”

Eliot chuckled from the sofa.

Margo removed her arm from Alice’s hand. “See? Pressure. You can’t handle it.”

“Okay, you’ve proved your point. But there’s not really time for me to fix it, is there?”

“You can let me teach you,” Margo told her. “I can’t go invisible, but I have my own skills that could come in handy.” Margo walked away from her, putting her ass into just a little, and turned back when she reached the stairs. “You coming?”

Alice’s eyes widened, obviously surprised by the offer, but she nodded. “Um, sure. Okay.”

*

_ Eliot _

“What’s so funny?” Quentin asked as Eliot laughed, watching Margo strut up the stairs, Alice following behind her, looking slightly mystified.

“Oh, Q.” He affectionately rubbed his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I believe Bambi intends on seducing your little girlfriend.”

“Don’t call her that,” Quentin said with a hint of actual anger in his tone.  _ Okay, too far, make it better. _

“Sorry,” he said quickly, relieved when Quentin reached for his hand, entwining their fingers together over his shoulder. “You wanna come up here now that Margo’s gone? I miss you.” He felt relieved when Quentin stood, setting his book aside to settle next to him across the wide cushions, resting his head under Eliot’s chin as Eliot settled the book back into his lap. 

“What are you reading now?”

Eliot sighed. “Just trying to look over anything that Sunderland might expect me to know on the first day. None of which I probably will.” 

“El, you’re going to be fine.”

“Maybe. I’m not really sure. I’m just not really used to drawing attention for academic reasons, I guess. I don’t know how Julia stands it.”

“She’s used to it,” Quentin laughed.

Eliot pressed a kiss to Quentin’s hair. “Well, you were Mr. Ivy League once upon a time. Any advice on handling the stress?”

Quentin shrugged against him. “Weed helps. And, you know, finding something to take your mind off things once in a while.”

Eliot’s eyes went wide as he felt Quentin’s hand brush over his crotch. He quickly looked around, though he knew no one could see. His bent legs and the book concealed everything, and the placement of Quentin’s arm was perfectly innocuous, even if his hand was being anything but.  _ “Quentin,”  _ he whispered, equal parts scandalized and thrilled.

“Hmm?” He pressed just a little more firmly, finding the line of Eliot’s cock and tracing it with his fingers. 

“There are… people in here.”

“Like you haven’t done worse on this couch.”

“Yes, it and I are very familiar, but never at six o’clock on a Tuesday,” Eliot hissed, though he was trying not to smile. 

“You’re just studying, I don’t see the issue here.”

“Oh, you want me to study? Fine. I will.”

Eliot focused his eyes back on the book, but the text could have been in ancient Egyptian for all the attention he could give to it. He swallowed a moan as Quentin’s finger traced over the head of his cock, trailing down towards his balls. His pants were growing tight and he was grateful he had the book, because he was going to need it once he escaped this damn sofa. 

“I watched a guy blow you on this couch once,” Quentin mused casually, his fingers still moving slowly, tortuously. 

Eliot tried to think back, but couldn’t recall anything like that. There was a lot he couldn’t recall, though. “When was this?”

“Your birthday. You were pretty trashed by that point. There weren’t a lot of people left downstairs, and the ones that were still there weren’t paying attention.”

“But you were?”

“I… didn’t mean to. But I saw you and I kind of couldn’t stop looking for a minute. I was jealous.”

Eliot inwardly thrilled at that. “Well, I don’t remember the blowjob, but I do remember being jealous of a certain Tootsie Roll pop in your mouth that night, so there’s that.”

Quentin laughed softly against him. “You noticed that?”

“Are you kidding? I was drooling; Margo had to slap me.”

“Oh. Well, that might have been on purpose, a little.”

Eliot sat up slightly, looking down at Quentin’s impish expression. “Are you telling me that you were trying to flirt with me that early in?”

“I don’t know if I was brave enough to call it flirting. But you flirted with me sometimes, so I just wanted to see if you’d pay attention.”

“Oh, there was attention.”

“Wish I’d noticed.”

“Well, you’re a little oblivious when it comes to the hotness of you.”

“Well, you’re being a little oblivious right now, and I don’t think there’s any Tootsie Pops in the kitchen.”

_ Oh.  _

“Well,” he drew the word out thoughtfully, “we could check… my room?”

“Oh, you keep those stocked in your room?” Quentin snickered.

Eliot sighed. “Admittedly not my smoothest line. Now get upstairs.”

Quentin scurried away from the sofa and Eliot followed at a smooth, quick pace, his eyes fixed on his boyfriend’s ass as he hurried up the stairs. 

Once they reached the bedroom, Eliot backed Quentin up towards the bed, holding his face between his hands. He was so excited for this it was almost embarrassing. “You sure about this?”

“Kind of been thinking about it all day, yeah. I’m, uh. Nervous, though.”

“That’s okay, baby. Nothing to be nervous about.” He leaned down to kiss Quentin softly. “You want me on the bed?”

“Whatever is good for you.”

“The bed is fine. Do you want me naked?”

Quentin smiled up at him, all eagerness and anxiety even as his eyes darkened with lust. “Always.”

_ God,  _ he loved this man. 

Eliot hurriedly began unbuttoning his shirt, chuckling when Quentin reached for his belt at the same time. He’d managed three buttons when Quentin’s hands stilled at his waist. “No.” 

The short word with its flat tone told Eliot nothing, but he froze because he couldn’t imagine it meaning anything good in this context. “Q?”

Quentin didn’t look up. “Eliot, do the spell.” 

It took a second for him to process, another for all the joy and excitement to completely evaporate from him. Fury tried to take their place, but it was easily pushed aside; there was no target here to focus it on, and Quentin needed him. “Stay with me,” he said quietly, pulling him close.

Quentin sank against him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault. Here,” He directed Quentin up onto the bed, sliding his shoes off for him as he sank against the pillow. “You want me to get Alice? She can knock you out again.”

Quentin looked up at him, obviously struggling to stay coherent. “Eliot. You’re allowed to be upset about this.”

“Of course I’m upset,” he replied, reaching out to stroke Quentin’s hair. “I hate seeing this happen to you. I hate  _ doing  _ it to you, even if the alternative…”

“I meant… for yourself.”

“Q…” Eliot sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. “Me not getting my dick sucked is an extremely small injustice when compared to everything else in our lives right now.”

Quentin shivered, the opposing spells wreaking havoc with his impulses. “Fair. Just… I guess I’d like to be able to take care of you, too. One day.”

Eliot smiled warmly down at him, his heart breaking a little. “Oh baby, you’ll get plenty of chances for that. Daddy’s an alcoholic.”

_ “Daddy  _ is off the table,” Quentin snarked, and Eliot massaged his shoulder as he was hit with another shiver, stronger this time.

“Hmm, we’ll see. Let me get Alice?”

Quentin nodded, closing his eyes, and Eliot quickly left the room to knock on Margo’s door. Hearing her call out that it was open, he slipped inside to find her and Alice sitting on opposite ends of her bed, perfectly innocent. “Um, Alice? Could you come do your little Russian lullaby for Q again?”

Alice’s eyebrows drew together as she looked him up and down, and Eliot realized his shirt was mostly undone. “The anchor activated?”

“Yes, just a minute ago.”

Alice and Margo followed Eliot across the hall, and he watched Alice quickly perform the spell to put Quentin under, after the man nodded his permission up at her. Eliot was just about to ask her if she’d teach it to him when they all turned, hearing loud footsteps in the hall.

Julia appeared in his doorway, her eyes wild with panic. Penny stood behind her, his own dark eyes furious and a long cut across his brow. “Is he okay?” Julia gasped, stepping past them in her hurry to get to Quentin. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Margo demanded.

“You didn’t try to fuck with the anchor, did you?” Eliot asked, eyeing Penny’s bleeding wound.

“I tried texting you,” Julia told him, her hand skimming down Quentin’s face before she met his eye. “We tried grabbing Mark.”

Eliot’s eyebrows rose. “Wh… you  _ tried?” _

“I’m sorry, man,” Penny spoke. “I went to grab for him and the fucker threw battle magic at me. Knocked me back into Julia, and he threatened Coldwater and did that disappearing act. Marina popped off a few spells to reveal him, but he was gone.”

“I… I didn’t think about the fact that he would recognize me,” Julia said, her voice thick as she looked at Quentin. “I shouldn’t have been there.”

Eliot’s eyes were wide as he took it all in. “You… So, let me get this straight. He’s seen you, with Quentin,  _ twice  _ now. And you lost him? And now he knows we’re after him.” An incredulous chuckle escaped him. “That’s just  _ fucking  _ great.”

“Eliot, I’m sorry,” Julia whispered. 

“So…” Alice now. “He just activated the anchor to be cruel?”

“This surprises you?” he asked callously. 

“Hold up!” Margo yelled. “Everyone take a goddamn second to calm down.” 

Eliot sighed raggedly, rounding his bed to take a seat next to Quentin, his hands shaking as he lit a cigarette. Margo climbed up to sit at his feet, but no one else moved. “Fine,” he spoke, his voice flat. “So, what do we do now? Because he was already untraceable. And we’ve heard fuck all about Bayati or anyone else that’s involved. He’s not just going to show up where he  _ might  _ work now and risk getting caught. He has to know Brakebills is involved since they’ve deactivated the alumni keys. We’re sounding pretty fucked.”

“I might have an idea.”

Everyone looked to Alice, who squirmed a bit from the attention, but held her chin high. “We could… just let him go? Next time. Let him lead us right to Mark. Us, the police, whoever, they could follow. Quentin wouldn’t be in any danger, and--”

_ “Get _ out.”

Alice flinched under Eliot’s malevolent glare but held firm. “Eliot, it’s just a suggestion, but you can’t deny that it makes--”

“Bambi, get her out of here before I do it myself,” he said quietly, part of him honestly afraid of what he’d do if the woman continued talking. Margo, knowing exactly what Eliot was capable of, hopped from the bed to usher Alice from the room. Penny stood for a moment, looking like he might speak but then sighing instead, before following them out the door. 

Which left Julia, still at Quentin’s side.

Eliot took a deep draw from his cigarette, staring straight ahead. “I won’t throw you out, out of respect for Quentin, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d fucking leave.”

“Eliot, I’ll fix this. I promise.” Her voice was choked with tears, but he didn’t feel any sympathy for her at the moment, remaining silent until she left the room, closing the door behind her. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	29. Eyes Wide Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have this weird pet peeve where I hate transitioning days in a chapter. Other authors do it seamlessly; I don't. But it happens in this chapter anyway. Also, if anyone gets my other fandom reference in this chapter, let me know. I'll be thrilled. :)

_ Eleven days later. _

_ Quentin _

Quentin took a deep breath before plucking another cheese cube from the bowl before him, glancing at the time on his cell phone before popping it into his mouth. It wasn’t that he  _ couldn’t  _ eat when the anchors were activated, it just really sucked to try. Everything in him told him to spit the food out and  _ go.  _

“Q, are you sure you don’t want something more… I don’t know, filling?”

Quentin looked across the table, where Eliot was tearing another bite from his sandwich. It hurt to see him projecting so much concern when he looked so terrible himself. His eyes were bruised from lack of sleep and his hair was frizzy and unkempt. And while Eliot didn’t own clothes one would call casual, Quentin hadn’t seen him dressed in more than plain button-downs lately, and that was only when they ventured downstairs. 

“These are easy,” he replied. “And if I can’t finish them, they can just go back in the fridge. And I like cheese.”

“I know,” Eliot said with a tired smile. “There’s plenty of bacon left in the kitchen, though, if you change your mind.”

Quentin didn’t bother saying he wouldn’t last that long, because Eliot knew. Almost an hour had passed since he’d woken up this time, and Davidson had been very meticulous with his revenge. The longest Quentin had been awake since Julia and Penny’s botched attempt at capturing the man was six hours, and two of them were spent shivering and panicking, trying to live through it just out of spite. That had seemed to upset Eliot more, however, so he hadn’t tried it again. 

Eliot had learned the spell to put Quentin under himself, refusing to speak to Alice long enough to learn it from her. He’d also modified it with Julia’s help, and it now only lasted as long as the command from the anchor, or near enough. Quentin’s life now passed in short vignettes; he knew he was missing so much, but didn’t have the heart to complicate anything more by asking. 

He knew everyone was exhausted, Eliot more so than anyone. Margo slept with them now at night, and Quentin knew it was in case Eliot didn’t wake and needed to be roused to counteract Mark’s anchor. Margo had also grown quiet, and warm towards him. She barely teased him at all. 

Quentin also knew things were not right between Eliot and Julia, though Eliot acted friendly enough towards her. And Julia… she seemed wrecked over the situation, but asking her not to feel bad only seemed to make her feel worse. He hadn’t seen Alice at all, which was the one thing Eliot had explained to him, the suggestion she’d made when they’d discussed their options. When Quentin had agreed she’d had a point, Eliot had left him alone with Margo until she’d texted him to reset his spell. He’d returned to perform the sleep spell soon after, his eyes bloodshot and wounded. Quentin hadn’t brought it up again.

It seemed it was easier for everyone for Quentin to just stick with the routine they’d developed. Bathroom, food, a shower if it was needed, Eliot’s summary of anything important that had happened during the day. If he was lucky, a little time spent kissing before everything went to hell again. 

It was kind of funny, being this tired when all he did was sleep.

The front door of the cottage opened, and Quentin turned to see Julia enter. He hadn’t seen her in days. “Hey, Jules.”

She smiled, looking better than last time they’d talked. “Hey, Q. Eliot. I, um, actually have some good news.” She moved to sit between them at the head of the table. 

Eliot didn’t appear to take the bait, poking another bit of bread into his mouth. “If it’s so good, why do you look so nervous?”

Julia rested her palms flat against the table. “Well, because it requires me coming clean about something. Um, Alice’s idea that has her banned from your sight forever?”

Quentin watched Eliot swallow, giving Julia a warning glare. “If you’re about to suggest I rethink my--”

“I’m not, I’m not,” she interrupted. “But… the thing is, we found someone willing to do it.”

_ Whoa.  _

Eliot only looked mildly disgusted, though. “Am I supposed to be happy that someone is desperate enough to put their life at risk to end this?”

“Eliot, Mark Davidson is in custody.”

Quentin’s eyes widened as he looked back to Julia. “Are… It worked?”

Julia smiled at him. “Yeah, Q. He’s in a Clean room with the state police. Went off without a hitch, and the guy who volunteered is safe.”

Quentin looked to Eliot, who was just staring at Julia with his mouth open slightly, total disbelief in his expression. 

“So… the anchor?” Quentin asked, because this was a lot to take in. 

“He can’t activate it. The Alibi spell is also gone. You can curse his name all you want now.” She laughed a little tearfully. 

“Oh, my God,” he breathed, resting back against his chair, the muscles in his face twitching, unsure whether to smile, laugh, or just start sobbing with relief. He watched Eliot lean forward to rest his face in his hands, his whole frame sagging, his careful mask of “I’m fine” forgotten in the moment. It hurt Quentin’s heart. 

“They’re going to start interviewing him, but it may take awhile to find the right people that can, um, persuade any information out of him,” Julia explained.

“Say torture,” Eliot spoke from between his hands. “You’ll feel better.”

Julia chuckled a bit at that. “I really have to go, though. I’m meeting Alice in the library to go over some things.”

Quentin frowned. “What things? Won’t the police handle it now?”

“They’re handling Mark, but as soon as the victims we’ve located start telling people the Alibi is down, we have no idea how many other victims are out there. Or other rapists, for that matter. Q, this might be huge. Alice and I are going to try to put together a locator of some kind. Maybe we can find other people involved that way. Mark was in New York, but who knows how far this goes?”

“God, you’re right,” he sighed. “Um, will you let me know? If I can help?”

She grinned as she stood from her seat. “Yes, you can help right now by taking your boyfriend upstairs and making him sleep until you go back to class.”

Eliot lifted his head, his tired eyes on Julia. “Class?”

“Yeah, I guess there was some bad news. Fogg said to let you both know you’re expected back in classes on Wednesday. But honestly? Better than Monday, so he must like at least one of you.”

Quentin smiled as Julia leaned down to peck him on the cheek before leaving them alone. Seeing that Eliot seemed frozen in place from the news still, he reached across the table for his plate, his sandwich mostly eaten, and stood from the table. “What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Well. First, I’m going to go get rid of this stuff. In the kitchen. By myself, even,” he said with a smile. “Then, I’m following Julia’s orders.”

“What? Oh.” Eliot shook his head with a wan smile. “Q, I’m fine.”

“We’ll talk about how fine you are upstairs,” Quentin said. “To which you are going. Now.”

Eliot narrowed his eyes slightly, somehow conveying that he was both mildly annoyed  _ and  _ turned on by the command. But he did stand up and walk towards the stairs, so that was a victory. 

Quentin took their dishes to the kitchen, almost giddy over the fact that he was walking anywhere alone and unwatched, even if it was just across the house. He dumped the leftover food in the trash bin and placed the dishes in the sink before looking out the window. God, he could go  _ outside  _ if he wanted. He could sit out there all day, reading. He could go to the library. He could go see his dad, all the way in New Jersey. “Shit.” 

After a month of living under constant watch, Quentin wasn’t sure how to process this sudden freedom. He wanted to do  _ everything.  _

But mostly he wanted to check on Eliot. 

Letting himself into his boyfriend’s room minutes later, he found Eliot curled on his side. He hadn’t undressed or even taken his shoes off. “Are you napping like that?” Quentin asked as he closed the door. 

“I was waiting for you.” 

“To take a nap?” Quentin hopped up next to Eliot, stretching out beside him, face to face. “Would you be mad if I said that is the  _ last  _ thing I feel like doing right now?”

Eliot smiled. “No, I just wanted a minute. But I really don’t need to--”

Quentin tapped at his lips. “You’re sleeping. I know I haven’t been conscious much lately, but I didn’t need to be to know you’ve been exhausted. When was the last time you slept for more than two hours?”

“I haven’t really been keeping track,” Eliot murmured, looking guilty.

“That’s fine, because I already know the answer.”

“What are you gonna do if I sleep?”

Quentin could see the badly concealed worry in Eliot’s eyes. Things were different now. The thing, the horrible thing that had pushed them together was soon no longer going to be a concern. 

_ (“...I’m petty, and possessive, and so goddamn  _ needy…”)

_ And all for me, God knows why.  _

He ran his thumb over Eliot’s lip. “I might go outside and smoke a few cigarettes, maybe have a drink or two? But I’ll be back. And I’m not making you talk about this, because you’re exhausted. So I’ll just say, I still intend to spend most of my waking hours up your ass, so stop worrying, okay?”

Quentin watched the relief fill Eliot’s eyes before his gaze turned sultry. “I  _ like _ those intentions.”

Realizing what he’d said, Quentin blushed, laughing when Eliot leaned forward to kiss him, quickly but a little filthy all the same, before drawing back. “So, um. You’re still gonna sleep in here?”

It was hard not to tease Eliot any time he looked so nervous, but it was much harder for Eliot to show any weakness at all, so Quentin only nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said simply, his insecurities dealt with for the time being. “Leave me, then. Be free.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I release you. For… an hour, tops.”

“I’ll probably be back before that.”

“Yes, but I’ll be unconscious, so.”

“You better be.”

Eliot gave him a playfully heavy glance. “I love when you threaten me.”

Quentin decided to leave that one alone, sliding off the bed to let his boyfriend finally rest.

*

_ Eliot _

Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this…  _ happy. _

The thought made him feel a little guilty as he followed Quentin and Margo down Madison Avenue the following afternoon, but it was still the truth. While he’d been given everything he’d ever wanted in the past month, it had all been shadowed by the threat of Mark Davidson, tainted with horror and pain. With the man locked away (hopefully forever), Eliot felt a relief he could barely contain, like the happiness he’d  _ wanted  _ to feel could finally be free to exist.

Seeing Quentin looking so carefree as he bantered with Margo over taking more of her bags made him grin, because his boyfriend had gone out of his way today, though he’d tried to make it all seem so effortless. Eliot had been pulled from sleep by the gentlest kisses, which had led to the sweetest, most eager (and slightly awkward) blowjob he’d ever received. (And with the way Q adored taking direction, it made Eliot almost giddy thinking what he’d learn over time.) After that, he’d been ordered by Margo to dress accordingly, and he’d followed directions well. His hair was perfect, his suit was immaculate, he was fully accessorized, and once he’d presented himself, the three of them had portaled to Manhattan for breakfast and shopping. 

And even though shopping probably made the list of things Quentin Coldwater hated doing the most, he’d gone all in today, offering his opinions and even making his own selections when it had been Eliot’s turn in the dressing rooms. Apparently Quentin preferred Eliot in jewel tones, and just knowing Q had any preference at all thrilled him. 

They’d purchased the best clothes, eaten in the finest restaurant within walking distance, and shared a bottle of champagne so expensive Quentin had almost spilled his glass when Margo had told him the price. She’d laughingly admitted her father might have a word with her over today’s indulgences.

But God, it had been worth it.

Stepping through the portal behind his two favorite people, Eliot looked around the common room to find it empty except for one Alice Queen on the sofa, who immediately stood to her feet once she spotted them. 

“Where have you been?” she cried, eyes pinned on Quentin. 

Did good things really have to end? That was a quote from somewhere, right? “What do you want?” Eliot sighed, already finished with this exchange. 

Alice threw him a small, wounded look before turning her attention to Quentin. “I’ve been texting you.” 

Quentin let the shopping bags in his hands settle to the floor, fumbling his phone from his pocket. “I’m sorry? I’ve been a little busy.”

“What shit storm are we in the middle of now?” Margo demanded.

“Not a ‘shit storm,’ really,” Alice replied. “There’s just a lot that’s happened, and I wanted you to know before everyone is talking about it.”

“Talking about what?” Eliot asked, trying to keep his tone neutral this time. Mixed results.

“The victims we’d located. They told others, and  _ those  _ people told others, and… this is  _ insane.  _ There have already been arrests, and the whole staff is freaking out. Once the arrests are made public, everyone is going to know.”

“Alice, spit it out,” Margo ordered. 

“Sex trafficking, okay?” Alice said defensively--and loudly--and all four of them looked around the room for anyone that might have overhead. Fortunately, they were alone. “The police have been updating Fogg since last night. It’s a whole network of magicians, all over the state. Maybe further. They implant those spells and they sell  _ time  _ with the victims. Apparently some of the McAllisters are even involved.”

“Fuck,” Margo deadpanned, eyes wide.

“I know.” Eliot watched her look towards Quentin. “I just… people might put things together, once this is all out. I thought you should be prepared for that.”

“Um, thanks. Yeah.” Quentin’s voice was quiet, not quite readable to Eliot without being able to see his face. Eliot’s arms were also currently weighted down with thousands of dollars worth of purchases, so he couldn’t even touch him at the moment. “Really, Alice. You’ve done a lot.”

She smiled timidly, and Eliot felt like an ass. While he was fairly sure he’d never like Alice, Quentin had a point. “You have,” he added, forcing himself to meet her eyes when she looked to him in surprise. “So I guess I’m sorry I threatened to throw you through a door.”

Her blue eyes were strangely menacing as her lips quirked. “I can handle myself, but apology accepted.” She finally seemed to notice the array of bags they were all carrying, looking amused and mildly unapproving at the same time. “I’ll… let you get back to what you were doing, though. I’ll text if I hear anything else.”

Alice left them alone and Margo led the march upstairs, taking half her bags from Quentin before disappearing into her room. Eliot slipped into his room with Quentin following behind and they laid their garment bags across the bed before stowing their other bags near the closet. 

“So, shopping wasn’t  _ that  _ bad, but putting all this away is going to suck,” Quentin laughed. It seemed forced.

Eliot pulled him away from the closet, wrapping his arms around him but remaining far enough away to study his face. “How are you feeling? That was… a lot.”

“Uh, yeah.” His lips quirked thoughtfully. “It’s… I mean, I’m not really freaking out. But I still could? I’m not sure.” He frowned. “I didn’t realize what it meant, that night. When he said I was ‘spoken for.’ But I guess I do now.” Eliot brushed his thumbs down Quentin’s cheekbones as his eyes went distant for a moment. “El… if you hadn’t found me, I-I guess I don’t really know where I’d be right now.”

“Baby,” Eliot said softly, leaning down to press his lips to Quentin’s forehead. “The feeling’s mutual. But I would have found you anyway. Please know that. He fucked up when he chose you.”

“Well, it led to him being locked in a cage now, so.” He pulled back to look at Eliot, a hopeful tilt to his brow. “Um, can we just make out for a while and let the clothes get all wrinkled so I don’t have to think about this for a few minutes?”

Eliot laughed low in his throat. “The things I’m willing to do for you. Also, a few minutes? After all the pampering you’ve given me today, there could be  _ props  _ for what I’m willing to do to show my gratitude. There could be  _ outfits.” _

Quentin’s eyes actually  _ sparkled.  _ “Um, what kind of outfits?”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	30. Got All i Need

_ Quentin _

Quentin noticed a difference in the energy of the common room that evening as soon as he and Eliot ventured down the stairs. It wasn’t like everyone stopped to stare at them, no. But Quentin could feel eyes on him. Every time he glanced around, someone was glancing away. It was to be expected; he knew the gossip had to be circling by now. He’d received a text from Alice that two of the McAllisters had been arrested, and the news was all over campus. The students of Brakebills weren’t stupid; stupid here got you dead, and fast. 

It was the sympathy he kept catching from some of those glances that made him squirm, though he really wasn’t sure why. Wouldn’t he have felt the same, in their shoes? “So, where’s this book?” he asked Eliot, trying to sound unbothered, telling himself he was  _ not  _ going to run back up the stairs. 

“Over here, if someone hasn’t moved it,” Eliot spoke, leading Quentin by the hand to the bookshelves, where he scanned a row of titles before drawing out a thick violet-bound volume and looking down at Quentin in quiet victory. He then turned to scan the room before pulling him towards the window seats. “Scootch in,” he said, ushering Quentin to sit near the window.

“El, you don’t have to hide me,” Quentin told him, settling into the corner of the recess as Eliot slid in next to him, his taller frame all but blocking Quentin from view of anyone. 

“Maybe I want to,” Eliot murmured distractedly, opening the book to what appeared to be an appendix. The script was miniscule, but Eliot soon tapped his finger upon a word, holding it there in place before his other hand starting thumbing through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “See? Here.” He held the open book flat and pointed at one of the paragraphs within.

Quentin looked at the entry in the book with skeptical eyes.

_ “Desperation:  _

_ -Useful in heat producing spells _

_ -Lunar workings (specifically when combined with obsession, though results vary based on caster’s level of sanity) _

_ -Has shown merit in Horomancy work, but Wisdom should always be regarded as the safest path for an Adept _

_ -Useful when working with insects _

_ -Promising results when cardamom is required for casting _

_ -Helpful for encouraging the growth of cabbage roses _

_ -Studies show increased accuracy and control when performing telekinesis” _

The list was peppered with footnotes, but Quentin was too astonished to read further, his brow furrowing as he looked to Eliot. “And this book has every known internal circumstance in it?”

“It does.”

“Then… what the fuck? Why do we study these all the goddamn time if it’s right here?” he sputtered, waving his hand at the book, prepared to enter a full-on snit.

Eliot chuckled. “Because it’s subjective, Q. One woman wrote this book, like, forty years ago, or something.”

Quentin sagged against Eliot’s shoulder. “So this is just, like, her opinion?”

Eliot sighed, tilting his head a bit. “It’s like tarot, or astrology. There are common themes people agree on, but their own opinions are going to worm their way in eventually.”

Quentin frowned as he looked over the paragraph again. “Um, Julia never mentioned that being one of yours, though? Does it cross-reference or something?”

Eliot’s hand reached for his across the page, his fingers running over Quentin’s knuckles. “Julia might have been kinder than she appeared that night.”

Quentin really didn’t know what to do with that confession. “Oh. Well, do you think it’ll help when you start with Sunderland? To look all these up?”

Eliot shrugged slightly. “It can’t hurt, right?”

“I don’t guess. Um, can you look up melancholy first, though?”

Eliot went slightly still before smiling fondly down at him. “Oh, are we trading secrets now?”

Quentin leaned up to kiss his chin. “Well, you showed me yours.”

Eliot hummed happily, taking a few moments to locate the appropriate page before sliding the book to rest on their joined knees.

_ “Melancholy: _

_ -Required for most spells that assist in the aiding of grief _

_ -Can be used in frost protection spells as a substitute for Severity _

_ -Useful in the Summoning of Magical Creatures _

_ -Helpful in spells requiring pine needles or blood _

_ -It is theorized Melancholy may be required in the ability for a caster to learn any form of Wild magic; opinions vary, however, and studies have been extremely limited _

_ -Useful in mending spells of inanimate objects” _

“Well, that’s… interesting, I guess,” Quentin mused. “I may borrow this when you’re done.”

“Oh, has Julia pulled out your secrets, too?”

“No, but I think I know a couple more of mine. Maybe.”

“Well, if sexy’s in here, that will definitely need to be added to the list,” Eliot purred in his ear and Quentin shivered. 

“If that was a circumstance, I think it would have come up during Julia’s spell,” he replied, lifting Eliot’s hand to brush a kiss across his knuckles. 

“Maybe. You should look up bravery, though.”

Eliot said it so off-handedly, but it still stole the air from Quentin as he looked up at him. There was something that felt like a moment, but it was overwhelming and Quentin had to deflect, snickering and rolling his eyes. “Right. I don’t think bravery means hiding behind one’s boyfriend just to avoid a few stares.”

“You’re down here, aren’t you?” Eliot asked. “I just thought a buffer might help, is all. And that’s really just in case anything feels bold enough to think they’re going to ask questions.”

“You think someone would?” 

Eliot gave him a ‘come on’ kind of look. “You’ve met these people, Q. But you don’t owe them shit.”

“I wonder how long this will last. Before it’s all over, I mean.”

“I’m not sure. The worst is over, though, right?” He sounded uncertain, so Quentin pressed closer against him. 

“Of course. I just meant, maybe people will kind of forget about it once it’s all over with. Does stuff like this go to court? I mean, like, magically?”

Eliot squinted thoughtfully. “I think I heard about something like that before. I mean, it would have to, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess I’ll know soon enough.” It wasn’t really something he wanted to think about at the moment, though.

Eliot maneuvered him a bit to slide his arm around him and pull him close. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Quentin.”

“Wow, my full name? Serious,” he laughed softly.

“I’m  _ being  _ serious. Don’t make me add the Makepeace.”

Quentin shook with silent laughter. “Please don’t. But I couldn’t do that, El. If anything I could say might… help. I couldn’t walk away from that. If I have to talk about it, I will.”

Eliot’s lips pressed against his temple. “See?” he asked softly. “Brave.”

And Quentin couldn’t quite believe the words, not entirely. But the conviction in Eliot’s voice warmed him all the same.

*

_ Eliot _

Eliot had moved to the couch once Julia had arrived to spend time with Quentin; the window seat wasn’t comfortable alone and he’d also been asked to mix a few drinks. People had obviously felt more comfortable approaching him without Quentin at his side, and a few that had only had jealous or scornful looks for him before seemed almost apologetic now. Eliot turned on the charm and passed out cocktails, silently communicating that all was forgiven. For the most part.

Feeling the mood in the common room was just about right for a party, if a very mellow one, he’d flipped on some Sia and had busied himself at his bar, collecting ingredients from the kitchen and getting to work on returning his workspace to its former glory. 

It was after eleven when Eliot watched Julia sweep past him quickly, looking straight ahead as she followed.... Kady? Around the banister and up the stairs, both of them laughing hysterically.

_ Well, okay,  _ he thought with an interested tilt of his head and raised brows. But if Julia was possibly going to explore her sexuality, where was his boyfriend?

Feeling a little embarrassed about it, Eliot performed the sending spell.  _ Q? _

There was a pause before he received any response.  _ Eliot! Hey! _

Eliot’s mouth fell open a bit with amusement. 

_ He’s with me, El,  _ Margo added.  _ And drunk as a skunk. _

Eliot sighed, smiling crookedly.  _ Where? _

_ Patio. _

Eliot washed the ginger and lemon from his hands in the kitchen sink before stepping outside to find Quentin sprawled in one of the patio chairs, a cigarette dangling from his hand. He smiled besottedly at Eliot once he spotted him, looking to Margo who was sitting at his side. “Margo, look who’s here.”

Margo smiled at him indulgently, obviously trying not to laugh. “I see.” She looked to Eliot, clearly exasperated, if amused.

Eliot pulled a free chair near Quentin’s other side, taking a seat. As soon as he did, Quentin stumbled out of his chair to crawl into his lap, tossing his cigarette aside, and it was so adorable he couldn’t even be upset with him for getting so wasted. Eliot couldn’t really hold it against him; he’d had a lot thrown at him today. 

“Hi,” Eliot told him as Quentin smiled at him, his eyes bleary and barely focused. 

“Hi.” Quentin’s smile turned shy but the kiss he followed it with was very full of intent. He heard Margo snicker, and then her heels clicking against the concrete as she left them alone. 

Eliot let Quentin kiss him, all eager and messy and slow, but when his boyfriend’s hands started to roam, he gently caught them with his own, leaning back for air. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked teasingly.

“Maybe I didn’t get enough of you earlier,” Quentin mumbled, his eyes focused on Eliot’s mouth before looking down, his fingers trailing down the side of Eliot’s tie. “I kind of forgot how much I like you like this, I guess.”

“Like this?” he asked curiously, not quite understanding. 

“You know, all perfect. You haven’t really had the time, I know. Other things to worry about.” His eyes met Eliot’s again. “I mean, I like you every way. But when you’re like this, I just feel really lucky that you even notice me.” Eliot didn’t speak, seeing that Quentin was still trying to explain, that slightly distant look in his eyes. “I guess it’s intimidating, but… not in a bad way?” He looked a little embarrassed by the admission.

Eliot was delighted. “Baby, it’s not exactly surprising you have an authority kink.” His grin turned cat-like as he leaned forward to flick his tongue at the corner of Quentin’s mouth. “You want Daddy to tell you what to do?”

Eliot’s eyes flared with surprise when Quentin shivered very obviously against him before quickly barking out a laugh and turning his face away. “Eliot, shut up.” But his voice was raspy and he was too drunk to pull off the lie.  _ Interesting.  _ Still, Eliot could remember a time when he’d felt ashamed for the things he wanted, so he let it go, kissing Quentin’s temple. 

“Hey, you want to head inside?” he asked casually. Quentin agreed, and Eliot helped him walk through the cottage and upstairs, letting his boyfriend grope him mostly innocently on the way but not focusing on it, because he knew exactly how this was going to end. 

Ten minutes later, Quentin was passed out on his back in the center of Eliot’s bed, still in his jeans and socks, his shirt still hanging from one wrist. Eliot laughed softly to himself and undressed him the rest of the way, wrangling the blankets from under him to cover him with. He snapped a quick picture to send to Margo and joined Quentin in bed minutes later. 

He wasn’t sure of the time when he woke again, eyes blinking in the darkness. Confused as to what had pulled him from sleep, Eliot started to move to reach for his phone, but the whimper that sounded from the other side of the bed stilled his movement, and the wet sniffle he heard after pierced his heart. 

His hand roamed under the blanket, finding Quentin’s arm not far away, and he slid across the bed, resting his head on his shoulder. “Q?”

“Shit, sorry,” Quentin whispered, sniffling again. 

“What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yeah, I think I got too drunk. I’m okay now.”

“Do you need to talk about it?” he asked carefully, keeping his voice even. 

“I… probably? Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t think I can, El.”

“It’s okay.” Eliot rested his hand on Quentin’s chest, relieved when Quentin moved to hold it. He always found it amusing that Quentin could seem much smaller than him but their hands were nearly identical in size. “But I’m here, okay?”

“I know that. Um. Can I ask you something, though?”

“Anything, baby.” He smiled when he felt Quentin’s other hand sink into his hair. 

“You can say no, I won’t be mad or anything. But… I kind of want to go see my dad. And I know Mark can’t do any magic now, but I’m still kind of scared to go that far by myself.”

Eliot’s brows rose slightly. “You want me to go visit your dad with you?”

“I… I know it’s a lot to ask. But I’m fine if you just want to say you’re my friend, or something. I just… I don’t want to tell him what happened, I can’t, I just…”

_ You just want your dad.  _ And while Eliot couldn’t relate, he could understand. 

Eliot sat up on his elbow, finding Quentin’s jaw in the dark and running his hand up to smooth his hair back. He could feel the wetness of his tears, hot on his skin. “Q, of course I’ll go. I’ll be a nervous wreck, but I’ll go. As your boyfriend. I’m never pretending I’m just your friend again, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah… Kiss me?”

Eliot gladly complied. 

  
  
  
  



	31. Faith In Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stop myself from posting another chapter today. Oops.
> 
> I kind of want to jump ahead of any potential offense in this chapter. I make a comment about Indiana, and if you live in Indiana, it's not personal. I live 3 hours south of Whiteland, in Kentucky. And Kentucky can be beautiful and modern and surprisingly progressive at times. And five miles away, it can be the exact opposite. I have queer and trans friends who are out and supported and I also come from a town not far away that still has people without indoor plumbing up in the mountains. It is a strange place with a curious mix of people that rarely get along. I'm in Indiana often, and it's really not any different there. So my comment is only a dig at Eliot's family, not the state or even Whiteland itself.

_ The following Saturday. _

_ Eliot _

Eliot was hiding in his bedroom that morning, practically vibrating with anxiety as he studied his reflection, wishing he’d had more time to plan an outfit. 

The trouble was, he’d managed to forget Quentin had asked to visit his father. He hadn’t mentioned it the next day, or the day after. And then they’d returned to classes, been forced to adjust to one another’s normal routines. Quentin had missed so much work during Mark’s constant activation of the anchor spell, and he’d barely seen him in the past few days without his nose in a book or his hands moving through complicated combinations of Popper exercises.

Eliot had met with Sunderland on Wednesday. It had really been fairly uneventful; she’d only given him a book list and told him she would meet with him after his scheduled classes on Mondays and Wednesdays in the future. The book list, however… Eliot sighed, unable to devote any of his stress to that at the moment. 

He’d envisioned a somewhat lazy Saturday when he’d first woken up that morning, but over breakfast Quentin had just casually asked, “Hey, you wanna head to my dad’s today?” And Eliot had been a nervous wreck ever since. 

A knock sounded on his door and Eliot cursed quietly. “Who is it?”

“Me,” Quentin called. “Are you ready?”

Eliot sighed impatiently, flicking his finger to open the door. “One, no. Two, knocking?”

“Well, considering the mood you’re in, I didn’t want anything thrown my way by accident,” he said with a sardonic grin.

“Cute,” Eliot replied, his look implying it was anything but that. “Is the portal ready?”

“Yes. It has been for thirty minutes now.” Quentin’s smile turned indulgent. “El, you look  _ great.” _

“You made me change earlier.”

“The first time, and I shouldn’t have asked. I just didn’t want my dad to think I was playing mistress to one of my professors, is all. If that’s what you want to wear, put it back on. He’s probably not even going to notice. But I would like to see him at some point today, if that’s okay with you.”

Eliot smiled reluctantly. “Fine, I’ll go like this,” he relented, giving one last critical look at his reflection. The open vest and lack of tie made him feel almost naked, but he did look more casual. “Did you check the weather?”

“Yeah, you should probably grab a jacket, but nothing serious.”

Eliot paused at his closet to slip his beige suit jacket from its hanger and followed Quentin downstairs and outside to the portal he and Margo had been constructing. Margo immediately gave him a look that told him his panic was evident and she was going to tease him mercilessly for it later, but Eliot only glared in return. 

“You boys have fun,” she sang, performing the last few tuts that would open the portal, and Quentin pulled at Eliot’s hand to step through the shimmering field of energy.

Eliot followed Quentin into a short alley behind a brick building. Unlike portaling to Manhattan, everything was fairly clean. “Where are we?”

“Oh, behind the bookstore.” Eliot gave him a look, because of course. “What? It was the closest place I could think of. It’s only a couple of blocks from here.”

“Lead the way, then.”

Eliot was secretly pleased when Quentin reached for his hand and threaded their fingers together as they stepped out of the alley and into a quaint little shopping district. As they left the line of shops behind, a thought occurred to him. “You did tell him we’re coming, right? I never saw you call.”

“I called him, El.”

“Okay. And--”

“And he knows he’s meeting my boyfriend today,” Quentin assured him. 

“How did he… take that?”

Quentin laughed. “He’s fine with it, I swear. He’s not judgmental like that. A little confused sometimes, but he takes things pretty well.”

Eliot chewed at his lip before another thought occurred to him. “What’s your story for your dad, anyway? Yale, I guess?”

He watched Quentin wince a little, turning to look at him guiltily. “Actually… I kind of told my dad. All of it.”

Eliot almost came to a halt on the sidewalk, his eyes widening in shock. “You told your dad you’re…”

“A magician? Uh, kind of. Yeah.”

Stunned laughter escaped Eliot. “Oh. Well. Okay?” Shaking his head in disbelief, he resumed their previous pace. 

“You’re not… I know it was stupid, but you’re not mad, are you?”

“Mad? No. Just… surprised. How did he deal with that?”

Quentin shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “Pretty okay, actually. He asks a lot of questions about it, though, so be prepared for that.”

“No worries.” Eliot still couldn’t quite comprehend it, though. His own father hadn’t been able to accept the most basic truths about him, and his family had been deeply superstitious and religious when it conveniently aligned with their own fears and animosities. Shuddering at what might have been, he forced himself to focus on the present, where there would be no backwoods exorcisms, thank you. 

They crossed the street, and Eliot studied the charming exteriors of the older homes they passed. Nothing on this street could be called “new,” except maybe the vehicles parked in the driveways and along the curbs, but each house they passed appeared lovingly maintained. Eliot often made fun of Quentin for being from New Jersey, but he had to admit, this was actually kind of nice. 

“Right up here,” Quentin spoke, pointing at a two-story white house with a red door a little further down the street. A black Acura was parked in the drive, and the hedges were a little overgrown. Eliot’s gut began crawling with anxiety again. What was he doing here? He was not the type of man anyone brought to meet their parents. He was a textbook example of who to date if you wanted to  _ worry _ your parents.  _ Fuck. _

“El, you look like you’re gonna throw up.”

Eliot turned to Quentin, trying to smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a bit out of my element, is all.” Quentin gave him a sympathetic look before leading him off the sidewalk and towards the front door. Eliot was expecting to have a moment to compose himself before they were met with Quentin’s father, but Quentin didn’t knock. He just let himself inside, pulling Eliot after him.

“Dad?” 

Eliot scanned the cozy living room with its mismatched furniture, seeing no one. 

“In the kitchen, Curly Q!” he heard a voice call, and Eliot blew out a quick breath as Quentin led him through the room towards his doom.

Rounding a corner, Eliot saw Ted Coldwater turning from a kitchen table full of plastic bags with a smile. Q’s smile, and Q’s eyes. But much taller than Eliot had been expecting, and he fleetingly wondered how petite his mother might be. 

Eliot stood near the doorway as Quentin crossed the kitchen to embrace his father, absurdly feeling like he’d been abandoned on a distant planet. But then Quentin turned towards him again, smiling. “Dad, this is Eliot.”

_ Show time,  _ Eliot thought, nearly light-headed as he crossed the short distance to offer his hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Coldwater,” he greeted the man with a polite smile. 

“Oh, manners,” Ted laughed, releasing Quentin to shake hands with Eliot. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve been suspecting for years that Julia was the only person he spoke to.”

Eliot’s smile slipped into something more genuine. “You may have been right about that for a while,” he replied. “And I still have to share.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” He looked to the collection of bags on the table. “Fried chicken sound okay? It’s a little late for lunch, but I wasn’t sure if you boys would have eaten yet.” He looked to Quentin. “I figured I should make sure you’re eating while you’re here, at least.”

Quentin rolled his eyes, smiling. “I eat, Dad. El, you can sit there, I’ll grab some plates first.”

Eliot took a seat in the chair Quentin had waved towards, rolling the sleeves of his shirt back as Ted began emptying the bags of food and opening containers. God, when was the last time he’d eaten fried chicken? Surely it hadn’t been since Indiana; he’d eaten absolute garbage for years before Brakebills and Margo’s credit cards. 

Quentin returned with silverware and Ted started passing around the bucket of chicken and containers of sides as they all prepared plates. “So, Eliot, have you been dating my son long, or has he just been hiding you?”

Eliot was  _ not  _ going to blush, for fuck’s sake. “It’s been about a month, but we’ve known each other since Q’s first day.”

“Oh, did you take the test together? He told me about that.”

“El’s in his second year,” Quentin spoke up.

Ted looked impressed, and Eliot focused on his mashed potatoes. “Well, you must have learned some interesting stuff by now.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“He’s learning some really advanced stuff, actually,” Quentin said, and Eliot tried to hide his surprise when he saw Quentin was focused on his father and not speaking for Eliot’s benefit. “Molecular manipulation.” 

Seeing Ted’s stunned expression, Eliot rushed to add, “Maybe. I haven’t really tried yet.”

“Yeah, but you’ve already been doing it,” Quentin pointed out. Eliot shrugged, stabbing a green bean with his fork. 

“How are your classes going?” Ted asked, shifting the attention away from Eliot.

“I mean, I got a little behind, but I’m catching up. No worries yet.”

“And you’re, uh, taking care of yourself?”

Eliot watched Quentin give his father a tiredly amused look. “He knows about my depression, Dad.”

Ted smiled, though he looked a bit ashamed. “Gotta keep tabs on you, Q.”

“I know, but it’s… fine. Mostly.”

“He’s been doing great, Mr. Coldwater, don’t let him fool you. And when he’s not, we all make sure to gang up on him until he’s better, whether he likes it or not.” 

“That’s good to hear. You can call me Ted, by the way. I didn’t catch your full name?”

Eliot blinked. “Oh, it’s Waugh,” he offered.

“Interesting. Old English, I believe?” 

_ Oh, shit. _

Quentin jumped to his rescue. “Dad, he probably doesn’t even know. Sorry,” he added. “He’s a little bit of a genealogy nerd.”

“Well, at least you came by the nerd part honestly,” Eliot teased, before looking back to Ted. “So, I assume the Coldwater line inspired your interest? I’m sure it’s full of fascinating tales.”

And it was the exact right thing to say; Ted easily took over the conversation, filling Eliot in on the origins of his surname (which had only become Coldwater in the last century or so, apparently), and some of the stories he had discovered pertaining to his ancestors. 

But then, Ted had offered to look into Eliot’s family, and he was put on the spot again. Before Quentin could rush in to save him, he smiled. “Actually… I kind of adopted the name,” he admitted. “For personal reasons. It was originally Powell, but I really doubt you’d find anything interesting about them. I’ve heard some stories about my mother’s side, though.”

Ted only showed the faintest hint of surprise at his confession, his brow raising in interest. “Oh?”

“Mm-hm. My grandmother on her side was a Ginsberg. She claimed to be related to all kinds of people,” he chuckled. “But who knows if any of it was actually true.”

“Well, any time you’re curious, let me know. I miss the research.”

The conversation continued after their plates were empty, and Ted eventually offered them beer from his fridge, which Eliot accepted graciously before Quentin could say anything. It wasn’t Coors, and it had a slight peach tang to it, so it was drinkable. 

Eliot was on his second bottle when Quentin excused himself for the bathroom. Eliot was going to step outside for a cigarette himself when Ted’s gaze leveled on him. And he’d thought things were going so well…

But Ted smiled knowingly at him, throwing him off guard. “So, how are you holding up?”

“I’m sorry?” he asked, not sure what the man was referring to.

Quentin’s father grinned, reminding Eliot so much of his boyfriend it was surreal. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, but it’s pretty clear this hasn’t been a normal day for you.”

Eliot gave him a rueful smirk. “A little out of the norm, possibly,” he admitted.

“For me, too,” Ted told him. “The only time I’ve ever met anyone Q was dating was when his girlfriend and her dad came by to pick him up for Homecoming.” He laughed. “I think that lasted about a week. I do remember him mentioning you before, though.”

“Oh, God,” Eliot chuckled. “Please don’t hold anything he’s said against me.”

Ted smiled, tipping his bottle back. “I think the only detail I was ever given is that you were something of a mixologist. Once he spilled the beans about magic, he was praising your cocktails.”

Eliot smiled lazily. “Well, I am guilty of that.”

“But mostly, he’s just mentioned you. Always hopping off the phone because of Eliot this, or Eliot and Margo that.” He squinted thoughtfully. “And one time with ‘Todd set the kitchen on fire.’”

Eliot sighed, rolling his eyes. “Todd.”

Ted laughed. “Anyway, I learned pretty quickly he was making friends, and that was a relief. I just hope he doesn’t get to be… I don’t know. Too much.”

“Too much?” What the hell was this man talking about?

Ted met his eye, looking a bit regretful. “My ex, Quentin’s mother. She was always telling him he came on too strong, wore his heart on his sleeve. And that’s why he only had Julia in his life. That he chased people away.” He sighed, peeling at the label on his bottle. “I think he took that to heart, along with some other choice things she drilled into him before she left. But it’s never been something he could help. When he cares about something, the whole world knows it.”

Eliot smiled.  _ That’s one of the things I love about him.  _ “Um. That’s really part of what attracted me to him. I can be a bit of the opposite.”

Quentin returned to the kitchen then, so Ted only smiled in response, his gaze turning playful as he turned it on his son. “So, Eliot, has he made you read all about Fillory yet?”

Quentin scowled and Eliot laughed, delighted. “No, and it’s a point of pride the longer I hold out.”

*

_ Margo _

Heavy bass was vibrating through the common room that evening when she spied Eliot and Quentin arrive through the portal, both of them squinting as they adjusted to the noise and the smoke in the air that the filtering spells were having trouble keeping up with, along with the multiple light spells people had cast, dancing and floating through the space. 

She walked briskly towards them, and shared a look with Eliot before they performed the spell together to close the portal. “Bambi, what the fuck is all this?” he called over the music.

“Todd,” she replied loudly. “Can you please get a handle on it?”

Eliot heaved a dramatic sigh before looking to Quentin for his opinion. He shrugged in response before stepping up on his toes to brush a kiss on Eliot’s cheek, saying something close to his ear before walking away. 

“Where’s he off to?”

“To see if Julia’s here,” Eliot replied, looking annoyed before he waved his wrist, lowering the volume of one of Todd’s many “bangers.” He straightened himself, looking down in slight disappointment at his outfit before seeming to shrug it off and heading towards the bar. Margo followed, watching him usher Todd away with nothing more than a disappointed look before he started setting the area to rights. 

“Do you have your phone? I think mine’s almost dead, and if I have to hear another thing from Todd’s playlist, I will not be held liable for what happens afterwards.”

Margo smiled at him adoringly, handing her phone over and letting Eliot perform another spell that would play her music and amplify it before handing it back to her. 

He looked… not exactly upset, but something was definitely up with him. “So, how did it go?” she asked, leaning closer to him across the counter. 

Eliot gave her an unpretentious little smile, though his eyes were downcast. “It went… well, I think.”

“What’s he like? I can’t imagine, I need details.”

“Um, surprisingly tall? Friendly. A little invasive, but I hear most parents are like that. He didn’t give me the third-degree or anything, though. I mean, he seemed  _ concerned  _ about Q, but not over-protective. And the concern was mostly about the depression, all that.” His eyes widened suddenly. “And Quentin has told him about Brakebills.” Margo’s mouth fell open. “Like  _ all of it.” _

“You’re fucking joking.”

“I am not. Four beers in, and he was asking me to float the furniture.”

Margo cackled. “Oh, my God. That’s a trip.” Her hand reached out to caress his knuckles. “So, what  _ aren’t  _ you telling me?” Eliot tried to give her a confused look, and she narrowed her eyes. 

He sighed. “Fine. It was just… odd, is all. Different in a way I didn’t really prepare for.”

“What, the whole meeting the parents thing?”

“I guess? I went in expecting questions about Q’s sudden bisexuality, or little reminders of all the girls he’s dated. Something at least awkward, if not rude. And it never came up. At all. Like three people can sit around a table and just have a fucking conversation and none of it mattered. At one point, his dad even talked about his mom’s girlfriend, and there was  _ zero  _ bitterness. A few scandalous details about how it came about, but…” He shook his head, looking lost as his brow furrowed. 

Eliot’s eyes were distant when he spoke again. “I guess it just kind of floored me, that anything I’ve lived through could be dealt with that easily. Or not dealt with. Ted… he doesn’t see Quentin as a burden, or an embarrassment.” He chuckled. “Or even as all that interesting, to be honest. But in a nice way? Q was just Q, his kid, who’s a giant nerd, and a big sap, and a little bit of a fuck up.” Margo smiled, squeezing Eliot’s hand. 

He gave a reticent smile at the contact, squeezing back. “And Q just wouldn’t stop talking me up. It was embarrassing. But nice?”

“Of course he wanted to show you off,” Margo told him. “The boy’s twitterpated over you, El.”

“Well, it’s a little mutual,” he admitted, bashful and defiant about it at the same time. 

“Duh.”

She got a little grin for that, but it turned mournful quickly. “Bambi. It’s… fucking ridiculous, but I just feel terrible that I can’t give him anything like that.”

“Give him what, Eliot?”

“Anything he gave me today. I can’t... brag about him, or show him off, or tell someone how  _ proud _ I am of him. Fuck, if we ever ran up on my family in the street, all I could do is step in front of him.” His eyes turned to focus on the surface of the bar as he chewed at his lip, obviously embarrassed by his confession.

“Eliot,” Margo said sternly, digging the points of her nails into his hand for a brief second. 

“Ow. What?” But it made him look at her again.

“I am your goddamned family, Waugh. And I know how you feel, even if you’re shit at telling me about it.”

Eliot’s eyes went moist for a moment before he blinked, arching an eyebrow. “All true things,” he said quietly.

“You’re damn right. Now make your bitch a drink.”

He grinned, looking at her fondly. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  



	32. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning! Thank you for all your wonderful comments. A couple of things for today. This chapter is where I introduce my creation. Please be nice to him. Kidding. He's my original character. I didn't mean to get attached, but oh wow, DID I. So did my first friend that read this, and he is now just referred to as "baby." I've been itching to get to this point in posting.
> 
> Also, I know I have tags, but in this quarantine season, I know I am feeling extremely fragile emotionally, so I want to warn that this chapter is a tough read. I won't go into spoilery details, but the tags are in full use. Take care of yourselves, please. 
> 
> Oh, the song I make fun of below is "Panda" by Desiigner. (Which I love, because I'm terrible.)

_ Eliot _

Eliot was mixing a champagne margarita for a very timid redhead he’d never seen in the cottage before when Quentin returned to his side, looking uneasy. “No Julia?” he asked, handing off the drink with a distracted smile.

“Uh, no. She’s outside. But she brought Joey with her.”

It took Eliot a moment to recall, his brow lifting. “Oh. He’s still here?”

“Yeah, they’re allowing him to stay until he can find a place. But if it’s okay, I think… I might want to talk to him for a while?”

Quentin looked so unsure, and Eliot could only hope it had nothing to do with his opinion on the subject. “Of course, Q. I’m fine here, take all the time you need.” He turned fully to face him, resting his hands on Quentin’s narrow hips. “You’ll let me know if you need me for anything?”

Quentin nodded up at him, obviously anxious but determined. “Yeah. Kiss me first?”

Eliot kissed him thoroughly, leaving him blushing as he walked away without a word. Eliot turned back to Margo, quickly lighting a cigarette. 

“Don’t look worried or anything,” she commented.

“Your sarcasm? Not appreciated.”

She swirled her chocolate martini in its glass. “He’ll be fine.”

“I’m aware of that, I’m just… He’s never talked about it.”

She blinked. “At all?”

“Not really, no. I  _ want  _ him to, to anyone he wants. I just don’t know what’s going to come of it.”

“Well, you should probably slow down on the cocktails, just in case.”

He nodded in agreement before noticing Ford approaching the bar. “Hey, you.” For some reason Eliot had never been able to identify, he’d never flirted much with Ford. Maybe he was just too nice? That perfect degree of nice, really, that didn’t dive into the simpering levels of Todd.

“Hey, Eliot. Looks like you saved another party.”

“Well, someone had to. I give zero fucks about broads in Atlanta.”

Ford laughed. “At least he tries?”

“Ford, be serious. You want another birthday special?”

His already large eyes widened. “Oh, no. I barely remember Scott getting me back to my room after everything went down that night.”

Eliot frowned. “Shit, I forgot to apologize for that. Your party got kind of trashed.”

Ford’s expression clearly told Eliot his apology wasn’t needed. “It was a blast, Eliot. You can’t really control  _ everything  _ that happens, you know.”

“Well, I can fucking try,” he returned smugly, with just a ghost of his flirtatious smile. “So, no magic in your drink tonight?”

“No, a couple of tequila shots will be fine. Scott’s too afraid to come over here for his.”

“Smart of him,” Eliot replied in a clipped tone, but grabbed the Don Julio from its place on the shelf, pouring it with precision into two shot glasses. “Enjoy.”

Seeing that Eliot was not going to discuss Scott further, Ford smiled and took the offered shots, leaving the bar. 

The night passed in a similar fashion, with Margo a constant support nearby as Eliot mixed drinks and tried not to worry. 

Until Julia appeared across from him, looking tipsy and bordering on drunk. He almost asked her where Kady was, but stopped himself. “Hello, Miss Wicker. Where are you getting your drinks, if not from me?”

“Oh, there’s at least five bottles being passed around outside,” she laughed. “You’d be ashamed, really. I think I saw an Everclear label.”

“Fuck,” Eliot laughed before he combined that with the fact Quentin was outside. “Wait, Q hasn’t…”

“Not the Everclear, no. I think I saw him with a beer earlier.”

“Um, so he’s still…”

Julia nodded, her eyes softening. “Yeah. They disappeared for a little bit, took a walk. But they’ve taken over the patio now that it’s cleared out some.”

“And he’s… okay?”

Julia took a moment before replying. “I think he will be.”

Eliot nodded, accepting that. “Did you come in for a real drink, then?”

Soon after throwing together a dark and stormy for Julia, he abandoned the bar for the night, choosing some mellower selections from Margo’s playlists before taking his best friend in arms to dance slowly through the room. Because Bambi was drunk, and when she was drunk she liked to be held. And if he ever admitted he knew that, she’d knee him right between the legs. 

He loved her.

Together, they quietly critiqued the foursome trying to happen near the fireplace, sharing cigarettes as the room grew quieter, as all the illumination spells and their colors faded one by one. 

“You should check on him,” she finally said, stepping out of his arms and smirking. “But I’ve loved the attention.”

Eliot smiled warmly down at her and she stood on her tiptoes to capture his mouth in quick kiss, thumbing away her lipstick afterwards. “Let me know if you need me,” she ordered with a pointed stare.

“Promise. Good night.”

With Margo gone and the foursome in various states of consciousness near the fire, Eliot walked slowly towards the back door, seeing two figures seated at the table under the strings of lantern lights. The table was littered with beer bottles, but not an alarming amount. 

Taking a deep breath, Eliot opened the door to step outside, his eyes trained on Quentin as he turned his way, smiling softly. “Hey.”

Under the lights, Eliot could see his red-rimmed eyes. “Hey, baby,” he greeted him, resting his hand on his shoulder. He looked across the table, momentarily shocked to see an absolutely  _ gorgeous  _ man seated there. He was slight like Quentin, all curled up in his chair. Flawless skin, full brows and pouting lips, with dark hair and soulful brown eyes. “You’re Joey, right? I’m Eliot.”

Joey laughed, and even his voice sounded luscious.  _ Jesus, STOP.  _ Had he really just sent his boyfriend off to spend all night with this man? “I assumed. Nice to meet you, though.” He crushed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray, unfolding his slender legs and standing from his seat. “I should head out, I’ve monopolized your man all night.” His glance turned daring. “No regrets, though.”

Eliot gave him a mildly shocked smile in return. He could handle a little competition for Q’s affection, though. Even if it came in the form of this goddamn fae creature of a man. “Noted.”

Joey grinned, looking to Quentin. “Talk later?”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Night.”

Joey nodded, stepping off the patio and rounding the side of the house. Quentin stood, resting his hands against Eliot’s stomach. 

“Well, he seems to be… adjusting well.”

Quentin laughed quietly. “Not really, but he’s a damn good actor. I guess you’re ready for bed?”

“A little, but if you’re not I can wait.”

“No, I am. Let’s go.”

They were quiet as they passed through the house and upstairs, and Eliot gave Quentin his space as they undressed and slipped into bed. He waited for Quentin to smoke a last cigarette in the dark before curling up next to him, and Eliot relaxed at the feel of his head against his shoulder. 

“Did everything go okay?” he asked, unsure how to voice his concerns. 

“I guess,” Quentin sighed. “He told me they’re starting a support thing. Like group therapy. Brakebills is putting it together, but Joey suggested it. Most of the victims are hedges or didn’t even know shit about magic before everything, but I guess it’s some sort of fucked up apology for the McAllisters. He wants me to go.”

“Do  _ you _ want to go?”

“I don’t know. I probably should. I know I’m stubborn about therapy, but it does help. I just... don’t know how I’d fit.”

“What do you mean?”

“El… what happened to me is…  _ vastly  _ different. Yeah, I was raped. But then I had you, and Margo, and a staff of magicians to find out what was going on with me. Joey, the others… he lost  _ everything.  _ He missed work and got fired, he had to drop out of school, he got kicked out of his band. He lost touch with his family, and he couldn’t tell anyone what was going on, everyone thought he was on drugs or just being an asshole. He didn’t just get raped once, or just by Mark. And that’s how it was for most of them. I didn’t have to live through that.”

Eliot closed his eyes, trying to remain calm. “Q, it’s not a competition; it’s not ‘to the pain.’”

Quentin snorted softly against his chest. “Don’t quote things at me I forced you to watch.”

“Well, don’t tell me you haven’t lived through enough to deserve help. The person you’re comparing yourself to  _ wants  _ you there.”  _ And possibly just wants you,  _ he didn’t add. There was no room here for his petty insecurities. 

“I know. I just need time to think about it. They’re… he said everyone’s grateful I did something when they couldn’t. Like I did anything at  _ all. _ Like I wasn’t thinking of…”

Eliot’s face went slack as he felt the first tear roll onto his chest, as he waited for Quentin to finish the sentence. When he didn’t, Eliot… pushed. “Baby, you can say it.”

Quentin hitched against him. “I wouldn’t have lived through it, what happened to them. And yeah, I told you to go away for a reason that night.” Tears welled in Eliot’s eyes, his lip trembling. “But… I probably wouldn’t have done anything. There was just… the thought. Or the beginning of one. And it was… fuck, a bad night? I might have changed my mind, I don’t know.”

_ And I almost walked away,  _ was all Eliot could think. But this wasn’t about him, he wouldn’t let it be.

“Maybe… maybe they think you’re brave for going through your part of it, though,” Eliot told him, finding it hard to keep his voice steady. “I mean, think about it, okay? You let people help you. You were poked and prodded until something was figured out. You had a whole fucking staff of professors discussing the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. You  _ fought  _ what was happening to you, Q. You went through hell every time with those spells. You didn’t get to live your life, either. And now, so many people are free. And the fucking monsters who did it are going to be punished. None of that would have happened without you.”

“Don’t,” Quentin whimpered, burying his face against Eliot’s chest. “Don’t act like I was fucking  _ brave.”  _

Eliot wasn’t sure what to do, with Quentin clinging to him and cursing at him all at once, spilling tears onto his chest. “Q…”

“I was fucking  _ terrified,”  _ he wailed softly, his voice so high and broken it caused Eliot’s breath to catch. “I just  _ laid there,  _ until I could move again. I don’t know how long I laid there. I could hear people, but no one came. A-And… I didn’t want them to. It never crossed my mind to tell anyone, to find him. And I was in a house full of hedges. All  _ I _ wanted to do was  _ stop.  _ I just wanted it to stop,” he sobbed. A moment passed before he caught his breath. “It hurt so  _ fucking much,  _ Eliot. The first thing I did when I could move was throw up because I tried to scream the whole time and it made me sick.”

A sob tore from Eliot’s throat, but he pressed Quentin closer to him, telling him to go on, to get it out, to ignore him. 

Quentin sniffled wetly, rubbing at his nose. “It was… I could barely get dressed, because once I  _ could  _ start shaking, it was like it all hit at once. He’d opened the window before, to smoke, and it was freezing. And I just… left. No one even noticed. I felt fucking invisible, but that’s all I really wanted at that point. Just for no one to notice. I was terrified someone was going to stop me on the way to the portal because I kept having to stop, everything  _ hurt  _ and it was like nothing wanted to work right. My knees kept fucking up, and I kept falling down.” 

Eliot pressed him even closer, probably making him uncomfortable at this point, but feeling like somehow he could still save Quentin from something that had long since passed if he just didn’t let him go right now. “Q, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not… I’m not telling you for sympathy. That’s not… I’m just, I can’t take hearing how strong I’ve been because there’s a chance I wouldn’t even be here if you and Margo hadn’t broken in on me.”

“You’re here, though,” Eliot whispered, his voice choked with tears. “I won’t argue with you, even if I don’t agree. I just want to kiss you, okay?”

Quentin nodded, already raising himself up to find Eliot’s lips. They were salty and Quentin’s face was hot against his palms when he cradled it in his hands. “Up here,” Eliot ordered gently, and Quentin came eagerly, almost fully laying on top of him. There was no intent, just the need to be close. Eliot’s hands roamed over every part of Quentin he could reach, his lips tender and torturous in turns, trying to reassure himself that Quentin was there,  _ wanted  _ to be, and that Eliot hadn’t lost him. 

Quentin’s kisses became slower after a while, though, his head heavier within Eliot’s hands. “You sleepy, baby?”

Quentin smiled against his mouth. “Maybe, but…”

“We have tomorrow,” Eliot promised, releasing him and curling around him when Quentin pulled him close against his back after settling. He pressed kisses against his skin and hair until his breathing slowed, and Eliot just listened.

So happy to hear it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	33. Weave Your Words

_ Eleven days later. _

_ Eliot _

“Okay, good. Now, hold it.  _ Focus,  _ Eliot.”

Eliot breathed through his annoyance. God, he wanted to rip Sunderland’s head off sometimes and this was only his fourth lesson. The thing was, her methods worked; he couldn’t argue that.

Eliot held his hands before him, concentrating on the slowly shrinking cloud of ash before him, trying to force it to condense. This was much more difficult than his last session. 

His force that had once just cut paper could now punch perfect circular holes through fragile things, such as smoke, and once even cotton sheets. He was learning to shape that force inside him around and through, becoming familiar with the feeling of coaxing so many infinitesimal parts into one whole, or one part into billions. 

Eliot watched the ash form into a sphere the size of a baseball, and held it there. She wanted it smaller, he knew. Denser. 

“That’s enough,” she called, stepping closer to him and Eliot took a step back, irked when she reached towards his face to wipe her thumb under his nose. For all her professionalism, the woman was  _ familiar.  _

Knowing his nose was bleeding, Eliot reached for a handkerchief from his pocket; he carried one now any time he had class with her.

“You’re distracted,” she said with a small tilt of her brow, her hands clasped before her now.

Eliot gave her a look. “Well, you could say I have a little going on lately,” he replied tartly.

“Less than you did before. We’ll try again Monday, but I want you practicing until then. If you can get this down, we can start adding spells to the force you’re applying. We’ll focus primarily on transmutation at first, but if you apply yourself, we can probably start building within a couple of months.”

“Building?”

Sunderland’s lips quirked in a flash of a smile. “The simplest way to test the limits of your abilities will be a structure. Clay will probably do best to start. But you’ll need to be able to force the materials together, calculate the geometry correctly, and make sure the whole thing doesn’t collapse once it’s put together.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

That quirk again. “Entirely. Eliot, you can do great things with this. You have a promising career ahead of you, especially now that you’re not on a massive amount of coke.” He looked at her sharply, and she held a finger against her nostril. “I was a student here once, too,” she said dryly. 

“Well okay, then,” he chuckled awkwardly, returning his soiled handkerchief to his pocket. “I’ll just… go, then. Practice. Not… do coke?” God, he hadn’t done coke in months; she could have just called him a drunk.

Leaving the grassy area where he’d met for his class, Eliot passed Woof Fountain with a theatrically wistful glance.

Sunderland hadn’t been wrong. He  _ was  _ distracted. Quentin was pissed at him, and not in the hot way that ended in hickeys and mutual orgasms.

The morning had started out amazingly; he loved waking up to Quentin’s mouth anywhere on him, seeing his sleepy eyes and messy hair. He’d lost himself quickly to Quentin’s hunger, pulling him over his hips and grinding their cocks together as Quentin had gasped and whimpered against his neck. 

Then, he’d whispered, “Eliot,  _ fuck _ me.”

And Eliot had frozen.

He’d tried to salvage the moment, had immediately gone back to task. He’d flipped Quentin onto his back and moved down to take him into his mouth. He’d thought for a bit that everything was fine. After a few moments, Quentin had started making sweet noises for him again, lifting his hips from the bed. 

But when it had become obvious Eliot meant to make him come, Quentin had gone still, and he’d seen the anger building when he met his eye. 

“You’re not going to, are you?” Quentin had asked, an edge to his voice.

“Q…”

And that had been it. Quentin had pulled his legs from the cage of Eliot’s arms and had his underwear on before he’d reached the door. “I’m not fucking broken, Eliot,” he’d snapped, leaving the bedroom,  _ their  _ bedroom, for his unused one down the hall. 

And Eliot had wanted to follow, wanted to argue it wasn’t that at all, but… he was a coward. So, he’d showered and dressed, and by the time he’d gathered the courage to push open the door to Quentin’s room, he’d already left for the day. 

“Eliot!”

Turning, he spotted Julia jogging towards him down the path, laughing as she caught up. “Your legs are insanely long, you know.”

He smiled. “I didn’t know I was being followed. What’s up? I’m on my way to the gallows, so I should hurry.”

Her dark eyes shined up at him. “They got Bayati this morning.”

Eliot froze, eyes widening, but when Julia grinned up at him it was contagious, and when she launched herself into his arms, he caught her easily, picking her up and swinging her in a circle as she laughed. Settling her back to her feet, he looked at her expectantly. “Any details?”

“Not really; Fogg was complaining about the FBI not being as forthcoming as the police, but we should hear something soon.”

“Do you think she’ll give up how to remove the anchors?” 

They’d been told the week before that Mark Davidson had been no help as far as the spellwork went; he’d only learned how to implant the anchors, and hadn’t cared past that. But once all his wards and protections had been removed, he’d been persuaded into giving the police hours worth of details of names and locations. Several more arrests had been made, but there were still many persons of interest that were being tracked down. 

“I think she may be the only person who knows how; Mayakovsky hasn’t even been able to figure it out. I mean, he figured out a way, but not without killing the caster.”

Eliot scoffed. “I don’t see the issue, even if that meant mine had to stay with Q.”

Julia grimaced. “I’m not sure I disagree with you, either, but that’s for the courts to decide. The spell wasn’t designed to ever  _ be  _ removed.” She squinted thoughtfully. “Aren’t you headed to the cottage?”

“I am, why?”

Her head tilted, amusement filling her eyes as she started to walk again, next to him. “You mentioned the gallows?”

“Oh.” He sighed. “Q and I had… words this morning. Well,  _ he  _ had words. He left before I could beg for forgiveness.”

“What did you do, Waugh?”

Eliot gave her a roguish smile before the anxiety crept back in and it fell flat. “I wouldn’t put out this morning,” he admitted.

Julia’s lips formed a little “o” of surprise, and she looked absolutely tickled before she started snickering.

“It’s really not  _ that  _ amusing,” he scolded her.

“Oh, but it is. I can totally picture him getting all bitchy.”

“I mean, he does, and I adore that, but I think he was sincerely angry with me. We… haven’t yet.”

And that got a look of shock, but Julia quickly tried to mask it. “O-Oh. Um. Sorry, then. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t?” he asked skeptically.

“Q is not you, and I am not Margo,” she reminded him. “I try for dirty details, but he just does goldfish impressions at me and blushes until I drop it.”

Eliot grinned, imagining it. “Well, you should ask me. I  _ love  _ details.”

She giggled. “That wouldn’t really help me. While I’m sure it’s all very steamy, I’m more interested in knowing how Q  _ feels _ about things. I know him. There’s stuff he’s going to be too nervous to talk to you about.”

“I know. But I guess not having a conversation about it backfired today. I have to fix it.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to that. Will you tell him about Bayati?”

“I will,” he promised, and Julia took her leave from him with a little wave of her fingers.

Eliot took his time walking the rest of the way towards the cottage, trying to think of what he needed to say to Quentin, and how best to say it without setting the younger man off. Quentin was nowhere to be found downstairs, or in Eliot’s room, but the anchor spell was still active, and he knew where to find him. And it meant he was still angry.

Eliot knocked softly on the door to Quentin’s room before letting himself inside. Quentin was sitting up in the bed, his ankles crossed and a textbook in his lap. He shot a warning glare at Eliot, all wounded and sullen, before focusing back on his book. “I need to study.”

Well, that hurt. “Okay. Um. Julia just wanted me to tell you that they got Bayati this morning.”

Quentin looked back up in surprise. “Oh, well that’s… good. Do you know if they’ve let everyone know?”

“I didn’t ask, but I figure they will.” He shrugged. “You could ask Joey, see if he knows?” And God, hadn’t that been hard to suggest? “I can leave you alone, though. To study.”

Quentin sighed, his eyes falling shut. “No. We should probably fight about this.”

Eliot nodded hesitantly, closing the bedroom door behind him and taking a seat across from Quentin as he set his book aside. “Can I start by saying I don’t think you’re broken?” 

Quentin nodded, not meeting his eye. “Yes, but I don’t know if I believe you. I’ve been thinking all day of any other reason, and I can’t.”

“There is one,” Eliot promised, “but I’m honestly not sure if it will make things better.”

“Okay,” he replied, lifting his brow in reluctant expectation.

“I… I didn’t think you’d want to. I was just caught off guard.”

Quentin looked up from his lap then with an incredulous expression, quickly competing with hurt and anger. “How have I not made it clear I want to?”

“Q, there’s a difference between saying things in the moment, and actually wanting those things to happen. You’ve never mentioned it outside of jokes and flirting.”

Quentin’s face went through an array of expressions before settling on cynical. “So, you’re saying you were just planning on giving sex up for me?” 

“Quentin--”

“Did you really think that was going to work out for us?”

“Can you honestly say we haven’t  _ been  _ having sex?” Eliot asked. “Because I can’t. And not everyone takes that step. I’ve slept with lots of guys who aren’t into it, who don’t ever do it.”

“For one night, Eliot. Not… long-term.”

“It  _ does  _ happen long-term for people. Q, I enjoy every part about being with you. And it’s not like I thought it was off the table forever, just… it hasn’t been that long. And you never even dropped a real hint before this morning. We could have talked about it if you’d given me a second to catch up.”

Quentin chewed at his lip for a moment, and Eliot could practically see the anger leave him, his smaller frame going lax. “That’s fair, I guess.” He looked back to his lap. “I’m not really an expert on what hints I should have dropped. I’ve been wanting to for awhile, I just thought you’d say I wasn’t ready.”

Eliot reached forward, taking Quentin’s hand, grateful when he was allowed to. “Don’t get mad, but… physically? You’re probably not.” Quentin didn’t look angry, only confused and mildly annoyed by it, so he felt safe to continue. “There would need to be a lot of… preparation, before you could take me without it hurting you. And I’m not looking to rush that. If you want to do this, I’m frankly overjoyed, but I’d rather take it slow. I’m not willing to hurt you.”

Quentin nodded, looking a little shy suddenly. “So… okay. That sounds fine. But how long would it be? Before…?”

“Impatient?” Eliot asked with a feline grin. Quentin gave him a look that clearly stated he was not amused. “I’m not exactly sure,” he admitted. “Technically, not long, but I’d rather take my time with you. We'll get there.” He bit his lip, his fingers trailing up Quentin’s thigh, wanting to be on familiar ground again. “We could start now…”

He was rewarded with an interested tilt of Quentin’s brow, and there was already some heat in his gaze as he leaned away from the headboard and let Eliot manhandle him into his lap. They traded sweet, light kisses; make-up kisses, but right before Eliot parted his lips to take things in a more intense direction, Quentin leaned away slightly. “I’m wondering,” he murmured, his dark eyes focused on Eliot’s mouth, and Eliot knew whatever he was wondering was causing a very pretty blush to flood his cheeks. 

“Okay?”

“So, I apparently suck at dropping hints, but… what if I’ve picked up on some?”

“From me?” Eliot asked, confused.

Quentin leaned back further to give him a flat look. “No, from Joey.”

Seeing the teasing flare of Quentin’s eyes, Eliot gripped his hips, his lips pursing as he glared warningly at his boyfriend.  _ “Not.  _ Funny.” He pouted. “How did you even notice? I’ve behaved myself when he’s here.”

“You have,” Quentin assured him. “I still know you, though.”

“Sorry,” Eliot mumbled. “I want you to have friends. Even if they’re unfairly attractive.”

“You’re unfairly attractive,” Quentin laughed softly.

Eliot rolled his eyes, smiling. “So, you think I’m dropping hints?”

“Not intentionally,” he replied hesitantly, his eyes darting. “And Margo  _ might  _ have dropped one, too.”

That put Eliot on guard, but he kept his expression open. “Well, I’m fairly good at asking for what I want,” he drawled. “But if you’ve picked up on something, I do want you to talk to me about it. Not talking is obviously a bad idea, right?”

Quentin nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s just been a few times… El, do you want, maybe, for me to fuck  _ you?” _

Eliot’s eyes widened slightly as he forced himself to hold eye contact, to not hide. Quentin just looked at him expectantly, with such fucking  _ candor _ , that Eliot found himself nodding. “I mean… It might have crossed my mind a time or two. It’s not something I’ve been that into in the past, and even when I have wanted to, I’m a little… tall for some people. But I think about it with you,” he admitted.

Quentin grinned shyly, obviously pleased by his honesty. “Well, I definitely don’t understand  _ why,  _ but… if awkward’s your kink, we could try that?”

Eliot felt like his heart skipped a dozen beats or so and he blinked slowly. “Um... “ He chuckled. “I think you should know at this point that awkward definitely does it for me.” He ran his hands from Quentin’s hips to grip his ass. “But… you’d want to do that?”

Quentin nodded, his nose brushing against Eliot’s as he kissed him softly. “It might have crossed my mind,” he teasingly whispered and Eliot shivered at the thought. He knew Quentin felt it when his hands roamed under Eliot’s shirt, just barely brushing his fingers up his back, trying to make it happen again.

“Well,” he said softly. “If this is the gift I get for having a real conversation, sign me the fuck up, I guess.”

Quentin laughed, tucking his head against Eliot’s neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

“What?” he asked. “We honestly should have thought of this a long time ago. Reveal a secret, get a prize?”

“If it worked that way, I’d just keep you in bed all day,” Quentin told him, sitting back up to grin at him.

“Don’t act like I’m some deep mystery,” he complained. “I tell you things. And everyone has secrets; even you.” And oh, he  _ remembered _ .  _ “Actually _ , I’ve figured out one of yours, and didn’t even call you on it. I’m really such a wonderful boyfriend.”

Quentin’s brow rose. “Oh? Well, I’m not arguing your skills as a boyfriend, but I really haven’t tried to hide anything from you, El.”

“I wasn’t trying to say you were.” He lifted his hand to tuck Quentin’s hair behind his ear, wetting his lips as he searched his face, beautiful, filthy ideas filling his head. “How much do you trust me?”

Quentin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he couldn’t hide the interest Eliot saw in their depths. “Why do I feel like I don’t get to fuck you if I answer that question?”

Eliot chuckled, giving him an indulgent look. “Oh, sweetheart, that was never on the table for today.”

Quentin pouted, and Eliot wanted to suck on his lip. “Why not?”

“Q, it’s a Wednesday. I’ve been in class with that horrible woman for the past two hours, and in my regular classes all day before that. I have an exam to study for, and in 12 hours I have to go  _ back  _ to class to take that exam.” He smiled. “When you fulfill that particular fantasy of mine, I think I deserve the time to enjoy it. You’ll just have to wait for the weekend.”

“Don’t give me performance anxiety or anything,” Quentin muttered sarcastically, looking overwhelmed before he sighed. “Fine. What are you plotting, then?”

Eliot moved his hands to rest on Quentin’s shoulders. “Can I be vague?”

“We’ll see,” he replied sternly, but there was a tiny smile curving his lips.

Eliot smirked seductively, rolling his lip through his teeth slowly. He had a whole bag of tricks when it came to getting his way with Quentin now. “First of all, I want to finger you.” His smirk deepened as Quentin’s eyes dilated. “And I want you completely naked; I want to see you. I’m going to work very hard to get you out of your head, okay?” Quentin nodded, eyes eager. They’d been practicing with that, seeing what sent Quentin into that dazed stupor, how deep he was willing to go, and what he needed when he came out of it. It had alarmed Eliot when Quentin had openly wept the first couple of times, until he’d explained it was like finding the escape he’d always been searching for, the one fantasy lands had never quite given to him. 

“Here’s the vague part,” Eliot told him. “Once I put you there, I’m going to talk to you. And you don’t have to answer me, okay? Even if it’s a question.” Quentin frowned in confusion, but he nodded. “And if you want me to stop, I will, but I want you to think about it first.”

Quentin was eyeing him warily. “This seems like a lot when you could just ask me.”

Eliot shook his head, refusing to give anything away. “Yes or no, Q.”

Quentin’s eyes roamed the room thoughtfully before returning to Eliot. “Okay.”

Eliot’s expression was composed as he arched a brow, though inside he was doing cartwheels. “Okay was not an option.” 

Quentin’s eyes filled with understanding. “Oh, it’s like that today?”

Eliot allowed just a glint of amusement to show through his mask. “It is.”

Quentin tilted his head to the side, pretending to consider and Eliot wanted to pinch him, the fucking brat. But then he smiled slowly. “Yes, then.”

“Thank you,” Eliot quipped, lifting Quentin from his lap to settle him on the mattress, needing room to perform the silencing ward. “Now, undress for me and lay down.”

Once Quentin stood to comply, Eliot allowed himself to smile, watching hungrily as his boyfriend began shrugging out of his shirt with minimal clumsiness. Eliot began folding up the cuffs of his shirt as he kicked his oxfords to the floor. 

When Quentin turned towards him again, Eliot smiled appreciatively as his eyes roamed over his body. His slender hips, the curves of his biceps and calves. 

“What about you?” Quentin asked as he took a seat on the bed, laying back.

“What about me?” Eliot replied simply, moving up to recline at Quentin’s side. Before Quentin could respond, Eliot pulled him up from the mattress by the back of his neck in a searing kiss, delighting in the way Quentin melted against him almost immediately. 

He set a slow, brutal pace with his lips and tongue, holding Quentin in place by his jaw as he licked into his mouth, only pausing long enough to allow him to draw breath before diving back in. Eliot felt Quentin’s hand fluttering against his arm and smiled. “You can grab on, baby,” he assured him. He’d kept his clothes on to add to that feeling of helplessness Quentin seemed to crave so much, but it wasn’t something they’d experimented with yet. 

Quentin gripped his arm above the elbow and Eliot kissed him sweetly for following directions, his hand moving to lightly comb through his hair and down his neck, whispering down the line of his back as he kissed him teasingly. He continued the motion, just barely making contact as his hand traced up and down Quentin’s spine, sometimes roaming over his ass and down the back of his thigh, reveling in the tiny shivers he created in his wake, the soft sighs.

He slowly deepened the kiss along with his touch, kneading and pressing Quentin’s flesh as he sucked on his lip and tongue, bit at his chin. When he finally brushed his thumb over the head of Quentin’s cock, the moan that left his boyfriend’s lips was like music. “Feel good?” he murmured against his lips. “Remember, you don’t have to answer me. But you can; I’d like it if you tried.”

“Eliot,” Quentin whispered.

He smiled. “I’ll accept that.” 

Eliot took his time, alternating between soft and bruising touches, whispering filthy endearments against his mouth as he brought him to the edge of orgasm and then left him there, until Quentin was near tears, squirming and shaking against him, unable to speak. Sometimes, Eliot wondered if it was wrong, to love torturing him this way. He wasn’t about to let it stop him, though, not when Quentin seemed to love it so much, too.

He lifted Quentin’s leg over his hip, sliding his palm over the velvety skin of his ass before kneading the muscle there. “You ready, baby?” he whispered. 

Quentin could only whimper in response, his forehead pressing into Eliot’s shoulder. Eliot had taken him as deep as he could at this point, where Quentin’s entire world was nothing but sensation. He performed the simple tut that slicked his fingers with lubrication, using the arm he was propped up with to drag Quentin’s face away from him by the hair and kiss his swollen lips. “Lay back a little, I wanna watch you,” he instructed, and Quentin just obeyed, like he always did after Eliot put in the work. He liked to put up a fight at first, but it was really just a defense, and barely one at all. He always gave in eventually, always trusted Eliot to take care of him.

Eliot really hoped he wasn’t about to fuck that up. But he had to know; he had to show Quentin he could trust him with anything. Because if he  _ didn’t  _ fuck this up, it was going to be so  _ hot.  _

Eliot studied Quentin’s face as he teasingly brushed his hand down his cock, lingering for a moment to squeeze, enraptured by the small spasms of Quentin’s brow and trembling of his lip. He turned his wrist, grazing Quentin’s balls with the heel of his hand before sliding over his perineum, and  _ that  _ got a reaction. Quentin immediately went still, a ruined little cry escaping him that went straight to Eliot’s dick, which did  _ not  _ currently need the help.

“Good?” Eliot murmured, trying to keep his own voice even before he pressed there, more firmly this time, his eyes dilating as Quentin’s head tilted back, his hips jerking and his lips parting as he inhaled sharply. He could feel Quentin’s fingers digging into his arm, and wished he could strip his shirt off without interrupting the moment, wished he could feel the bite of his fingernails. 

_ Focus.  _

Eliot blinked, leaning down to capture Quentin’s lips again, moaning softly as Quentin surged forward to lick at his mouth, desperate and breathless, and when Eliot’s finger crept forward to brush right  _ there,  _ Quentin cried out against his mouth. Eliot breathed it in like a drug. 

He teased Quentin’s hole, pressing and circling, trying not to lose his careful control as Quentin’s leg clutched at his hip, as he whimpered and bit at Eliot’s mouth.  _ “Please,”  _ he mewled and Eliot’s eyes rolled. 

_ Fucking  _ focus.

“It’s okay, baby, just… relax for me, okay? Here,” he added, moving his finger, trying not to over-explain things. Because even in this state, Quentin could get bitchy if he felt he was being too handled. Eliot had yet to learn the line on that, and suspected it changed by the moment. Julia had called him mercurial during a spell, but her best friend could give lessons on the subject.

But Quentin did make an effort, his kisses gentling, his leg and hand on Eliot relaxing somewhat and when Eliot attempted to press his finger inside, he was met with little resistance. “Stay relaxed,” he commanded softly, his lips grazing Quentin’s as he spoke, but Quentin only panted harshly in response. “Q, are you okay?”

Quentin quickly nodded. “Mm-hm, don’t stop, please,” he responded in a rush of air, barely a whisper.

“No worries,” Eliot promised, kissing him gently as he slowly worked his finger into him. “Feel good?”

_ “Yes.” _

“Good. You’re being so good for me I think I’ll let you blow me after this.” Quentin bit Eliot’s lip in response, a shocking little sting, and Eliot curled his finger inside, smirking when Quentin grunted and trembled. “Behave.”

“S-Sorry.”

“Forgiven.” Eliot pushed deeper, finding his prostate and curling over it, pulling his head back to watch Quentin just fall the fuck  _ apart  _ from it, a low moan dragging from his throat. Fuck studying, Eliot immediately decided. He had a whole new subject to master here.

“Too much?” he asked. Quentin shook his head a little, distractedly, his face deeply flushed. “I can probably make you come like this, but you can touch yourself, if you want.”

“You… want me to?” Quentin whispered.

“Oh, you know the answer to that,” he said casually, but inwardly he was thrilled. This was going  _ perfectly.  _

Eliot looked between them as Quentin fisted his cock, and he was so  _ rough  _ about it, every time. Eliot moved his own hand in a slow rhythm, and Quentin was soon writhing against him, gasping and whimpering, so beautifully broken. This was it, he had to start now and hope it didn’t end terribly, or with him sleeping alone tonight.

“You look so pretty,” he murmured, his lips brushing Quentin’s chin. “So fucking hot. Makes me wanna take you right now.”

_ “Fuck,”  _ Quentin sighed raggedly; so predictably. Eliot almost wondered if he could make Quentin come just from talking to him. Maybe he’d try one day. Maybe on that fucking couch. 

“You want it, don’t you? My cock inside you?” For emphasis, Eliot dragged his finger down, and Quentin cried out loudly, putting the silencing ward to use as his hand moved at a punishing pace around his own cock. “Slow, Q.” He watched from the corner of his eye. “I’d take you slow, at first. Deep, though. Drive you into the bed until you cried. You want that?”

“Eliot,  _ yes.” _

And it was now, next time, or never. 

“You want Daddy to  _ fuck _ you, baby?”

Eliot’s eyes flew wide as Quentin made an alarming, choked sound, going rigid against him, clenching against Eliot’s finger as his hand  _ gripped  _ on his arm, and…

_ Oh, God. _

He’d come?

But an instant later, Quentin was all but curling into a ball, slapping at Eliot’s hand in his ass even as he was ducking his face against Eliot’s chest, breathing harshly as his hips still moved against the bed, still in the middle of his orgasm even as he was trying to flee.

Eliot carefully removed his finger, and when he tried to caress Quentin’s hip, wanting to soothe him,  _ something _ , Quentin  _ growled  _ at him. 

Eliot looked to see Quentin’s cock still twitching against his belly, forgotten in his humiliation. He slid Quentin’s leg from his hip, and he immediately jerked it away, curling it against him with the other one. How to handle this? Because he’d been empirically correct on Quentin’s hidden kink; that couldn’t be denied. But he was blatantly very unhappy about the fact being brought to light. 

“Q?”

_ “Fuck you,”  _ Quentin snarled against his chest.

Eliot worried his lip, hesitantly resting his hand on Quentin’s shoulder. He didn’t throw it off, so that was something, right? He could possibly fix this. “So… okay, you don’t trust me with this. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would upset you this much, I wouldn’t have done it if I did, I promise. I just--”

“Eliot, would you _shut_ _up?_ I’m embarrassed enough already.”

Eliot frowned helplessly, shifting his elbow from underneath him to lay at Quentin’s side more fully, but Quentin only burrowed closer to hide his face. Eliot called Quentin’s blanket up from the end of the bed to rest over him so he didn’t feel so exposed, smoothing it over his shoulders. 

“Q, I just wanted you to know you don’t have to be. Honestly, sweetheart, it’s a little basic as far as kinks go?”

_ “Eliot.” _

“Okay, okay, not talking about it.” He sighed. “Do you… want me to go?”

There was a beat before Quentin replied. “No.”

Eliot smiled a little at his boyfriend’s sullen tone; it was adorable. “Okay.” He reached up to comb his fingers through Quentin’s hair. “I will lay here and let you ignore me, then.”

“Thank you.”

Eliot pressed his lips together to hold back his grin. He knew what direction to take this in now. “So. I take it I’m not getting laid this weekend?”

He heard Quentin huff in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“I was just curious,” he replied with false nonchalance. “I did kind of have my heart set on it, but it’s fine. I mean, if you wanted to make things even, I could even call  _ you--” _

“If you finish that sentence, I swear to God.”

“Unlike you, Quentin, I fully wallow in my perverse vagaries.”

“Jesus, will you not wax poetic about your dick right now?”

“Well, you could instead,” he suggested. “With your mouth.”

He grinned as he felt Quentin start to shake with silent laughter, and was finally rewarded with a look at his face as untucked himself enough to glare at Eliot. “I hate you.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I know that. I swear, it’s off the table unless you indicate otherwise.” He smirked. “But I really hope you do. That was  _ unbelievably _ hot.”

Quentin’s head ducked back under the blanket and Eliot laughed.

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	34. Another Day, Another Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting two chapters today, because this one is on the short side. Hope you enjoy!

_ Quentin _

Returning from class the next afternoon, Quentin walked around the cottage instead of inside, finding Joey waiting for him on the patio, his legs curled up into one of the chairs as he smoked. He’d had a text waiting for him as soon as he’d powered his phone back on after class, and had hurried across campus to meet him.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Quentin asked as he took a seat across from the man, stealing a cigarette from the open pack on the table. 

Joey exhaled a plume of smoke, his brow rising over his large eyes. “Oh shit, I didn’t freak you out, did I?” He waved a hand. “It’s nothing about that.”

“Oh.” Quentin sank into his chair, relaxing. “I wasn’t exactly freaking out, no. Just worried there’d been more news or something.”

Joey shook his head. “Nah. You’d probably know before me. But I am kind of wigged out right now,” he laughed.

“Okay?”

Joey turned in his chair to face him, letting his feet rest on the ground. “You’re, like, best friends with Julia, right?”

Quentin smiled. “You could say that. But just for almost twenty years or so.”

Joey grinned, but there was a hint of anxiety around his eyes. “So, is she ever… I don’t know… a lot?”

Quentin laughed. “You mean pushy as fuck?” He watched Joey’s expression relax a bit. “Yeah, she’s kind of known for it. What did she do now?”

“Oh, just went to the dean and asked him to test me. Tomorrow.”

Quentin’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Were you not tested before?”

He shook his head. “He said I wasn’t; I wouldn’t remember either way though, would I?”

“Right, yeah. How did you know, though? That you were a magician?”

He shrugged. “I got frisked by a cop one night, and I had a bag of weed in my pocket. I was thinking I was going to juvie, but when he pulled it out, it was just peppermints,” he snickered. “I was pissed; it was good weed.”

“So, it stayed that way?”

Joey nodded. “Weird, though? They kind of still got me high. But shit kept happening after that, and someone picked up on it. Told me about a house in Long Island.” He pulled back his sleeve, revealing four hedge tattoos. “That’s as far as I got.” 

“Do you  _ want  _ to take the test?”

Joey’s lips twisted thoughtfully. “I think so. She said they won’t erase my memory if I fail it, which kind of takes any reason  _ not  _ to off the table.”

Quentin smiled at Joey’s worried expression. “But you don’t want to fail.”

He smiled sheepishly with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Well, I can’t even  _ do  _ transmutation, and I’m here. I don’t think you have a lot to worry about. And the spells you can learn once you’re here, are… frankly insane.”

They both turned to look as the back door opened, and Quentin smiled when Eliot stepped outside, smiling politely at Joey. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“No. Joey was just telling me Julia is forcing Fogg to test him for Brakebills.”

Eliot nodded, unaffected. “That tracks for her. Can I sit?”

Joey pushed a chair out with his foot, smiling charmingly, and Eliot gave him a mockingly aloof glance as he settled himself into it, propping his feet into Quentin’s lap as he lit his own cigarette from the pocket of his vest. “Well, good luck with it,” he sighed as he exhaled smoke.

“Thanks,” Joey told him. “I just didn’t expect this to be what I’d be doing with my life, I guess. I’ll get used to it.”

“What  _ did  _ you expect?” Quentin asked.

“I don’t know, really, but something with music? I mean, what is turning shit into other shit really going to do for me?”

“You don’t have to go into some magical career path,” Eliot told him. “It’s just a tool; an advantage. Besides, there’s all kinds of musical magic.”

“Really?”

Eliot rested his cigarette on the edge of the table, performing a few quick tuts, and Quentin watched Joey smile open-mouthed as a piano sounded from nowhere, playing “I Dreamed a Dream.” “That’s awesome. I appreciate your taste, man.”

“I’m aware,” Eliot murmured and Quentin pinched his leg over his pants, causing Eliot to wince, but he didn’t look the least bit apologetic over the comment. “Anyway, I don’t have long, Bambi’s waiting for me.” He met Quentin’s eye. “Remember our plans for tomorrow?”

Quentin tried very hard to keep his expression impassive, but he honestly couldn’t believe Eliot was bringing this up now. “Uh, yeah?”

Eliot’s cool mask turned regretful. “I’m gonna have to ask that we postpone until next weekend.”

So, this wasn’t a jealousy thing. “Um, okay? Is something wrong?”

“Well, not wrong, but there was something of an announcement today. They’re, um, going to start teaching battle magic again.”

Quentin gaped. That was huge. “Wh… They didn’t tell us that in any of my classes.”

Eliot looked mildly uncomfortable, squirming in his chair a bit. “It’s not being offered to first years.”

Quentin was stunned, but it was quickly replaced by anger. “Are you serious?” He crushed his cigarette out and grabbed another from Joey’s pack once he nodded that it was fine. “I mean, there’s no other reason for them to bring it back  _ now,  _ besides everything with Bayati and Davidson. Which happened to  _ me.  _ A first year.”

“I know. I don’t know why it’s only being offered to the second and third years. Not offered;  _ required.  _ I have to learn three fucking spells by next week. We’re being tested, and apparently this shit is  _ not  _ easy to learn.” He rubbed the heel of his foot across Quentin’s thigh. “You okay with putting it off, though?”

“Of course,” Quentin assured him, massaging his shin through his pants. “But I’m not okay with their decision.” Realizing how not okay he was with it, he shrugged. “I’m going to go to Fogg about it.”

“Well, look at you,” Eliot said with a grin. “All assertive.” 

Seeing the heat in Eliot’s gaze, Quentin rolled his eyes. “Isn’t Margo waiting on you?”

His boyfriend sighed. “Fine.” He removed his feet from Quentin’s lap and stood to his feet to approach his chair. “Kiss me?”

Quentin tilted his chin up, jumping slightly in surprise when Eliot kissed him filthily, tugging slightly at his lip before turning to walk away. “‘Bye, Joey, nice to see you,” he called over his shoulder. 

Quentin shook his head, fighting his blush back as he looked apologetically at his friend. 

He only laughed. “How much does he hate me, exactly?”

“He doesn’t,” Quentin replied. “Eliot is…”

“A little possessive?” Joey suggested.

“That, but he’s still… adjusting to monogamy? If we weren’t together, he’d be trying to fuck you, so therefore I must want to fuck you, for some reason. I don’t think there’s a lot of logic involved. And honestly, he’s a little bitchy with anyone I spend time with that’s not Julia. He’s working on it.”

“Well, it probably doesn’t help that I’d climb you like a tree, given the chance.” Quentin’s eyes widened at the statement, given so casually it could have been a comment on the weather. Joey snickered. “Stop with your face, I’m not going to  _ try.”  _ He flicked ashes from his cigarette. “Besides, I’m self-aware enough to know it’s mostly just that you understand what I’ve been through. Makes things easier, you know?” He glanced at Quentin, smirking. “Not that those hands of yours help.  _ But. _ I don’t want to cause shit with you and Eliot.” He sighed. “We deserve things that aren’t fucked up, and he seems good for you.”

“You’re not causing problems,” Quentin told him, fighting down his sudden bashfulness. “And he is. Good for me. When I don’t want to kill him.”

“I probably just need to get laid, anyway. You know, consensually?” Joey asked with a pained grin.

“Well, you should try to pass your exam, then.” Quentin looked at him pointedly. “Because that is  _ not  _ an issue on this campus.”

*

Quentin spent a good part of his lunch hour waiting outside of Fogg’s office on Friday, trying to unknot the righteous anger that had been growing inside him since Eliot had informed him of the school’s decision regarding battle magic. It wouldn’t do him any good to march in there yelling.

When Dean Fogg waved him inside to sit, however, Quentin found it hard to keep calm. 

“How can I help you, Quentin?” 

“You can tell me why first years are being left out of battle magic,” he said as calmly as possible, but unable to keep the edge from his tone. 

The dean clasped his hands together on the desk. “Oh, that’s simple. There’s not enough space in the curriculum to add anything else. The first year at Brakebills is for learning the building blocks, and battle magic doesn’t fit within that foundation.”

“Don’t you think an exception should be made? If it was so important to reintroduce it at all?”

“I’m not trying to exclude anyone,” Fogg told him. “All the texts regarding battle magic are being located and returned to the library as we speak. You are free to learn it in your own time until you reach second year.”

Quentin shook his head; it wasn’t enough. “What about an elective?” he suggested. “There are all kinds of useless electives, even for first years.”

“The board would be disappointed to hear that,” Fogg chuckled. “But I see your point. We could discuss adding it next year, if someone would be willing to teach it. But our staff is already spread quite thin. If you’re so adamant it’s essential, why don’t you apply to make it an extra-curricular?”

Quentin frowned. “What, like a club?”

Fogg shrugged. “Why the hell not?”

“Probably because I don’t know the first thing about it?”

“Learn it, then. Perhaps you can start next year, if it can’t be added as an elective. You can be your own goddamn Harry Potter with Dumbledore’s Army.” Off Quinten’s quietly disturbed glance, he straightened his shoulders. “What? They’re decent movies.”

And that’s how Quentin ended up outside that evening with several of the other first year students, lounging on the lawn as they watched the upperclassmen practice. Someone had lit tiki torches once the sky had grown dark, and a few students from other dorms had arrived to watch as well, including Julia and Penny, who were seated near Kady. Hadn’t Eliot mentioned he suspected something going on there? He’d been drunk, but he was almost certain he had. He could wait for Julia to spill the beans, though; if there were any.

It was strange to see Eliot and Margo taking anything so seriously, but watching as all the second and third years failed over and over again to destroy any of the items they’d brought outside to use for practice, it was apparent why they weren’t as jovial as usual. 

“Shit, they are really bombing at this,” Kady sighed from behind him. 

“What, you could do better?” Penny asked.

“I had a life before here,” Kady replied. “I know battle magic, yeah.”

Quentin turned. He didn’t talk to Kady much; he found her slightly terrifying, but his curiosity was currently stronger than his fear. “You do?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh, it’s just. I talked to Fogg about maybe allowing the first years to start learning it? Outside of class.”

Kady looked at him doubtfully. “It’s fucking hard,” she told him. “Most hedges cheat.”

“There’s a way to cheat?” Julia asked.

“Yeah. Battle magic requires intense focus in the moment. It can take years to learn that kind of discipline.” She chuckled. “A lot of people just bottle their emotions; there’s a spell for it.”

Quentin frowned. “If there’s a spell, why don’t you tell them?”

Kady gave him a dire look. “Because the spell sucks. Try to imagine not feeling anything for hours, like  _ anything,  _ and then having it all just slam back into you. It’s not worth it. And anyway, the professors aren’t going to allow that when they test them.”

“No,” Quentin agreed, “but maybe they could at least get a handle on what to do before they try it on their own?”

Kady glared at him through narrow eyes before rolling them and standing up from the grass. Quentin watched as she approached a couple of the third years within the circle of torches. She soon had everyone’s attention, but several of the students shook their heads and returned to their own stations of glass bottles and other props. After a while, he watched Kady lead Josh, Poppy Kline, Todd, and a few others he didn’t quite know into the house. Margo and Eliot were not among them, but Quentin did see they appeared to be arguing as they returned to their own setup near the edge of the torches. 

“Which one do you think turned it down?” Julia asked knowingly, her hand patting at his shoulder.

Watching Eliot glare down at Margo as he spoke and gestured grandly towards the cottage, Quentin smirked. “Eliot.”

“Aw, he wants to keep his wittle feewings,” Julia cooed. “I wonder why.”

Quentin glared at her, the corners of his lips turning up. “Shut up.”

  
  



	35. Watching The Throne

_ A week later. _

_ Quentin _

“Q, if you sigh one more time, this pen is going straight up your nose.”

Quentin glanced up from his textbook to see Julia smirking at him from across the table. “Sorry,” he told her, trying to focus on his own book. They’d been in the library since classes had ended for the day, trying to piece together the best circumstances to use in writing a cooperative spell that would allow them to grow a tree together. The spell had been assigned two days ago, and they were getting nowhere. Julia was talented with spell writing, and Quentin was fairly decent with Nature spells, but trying to get their circumstances to play nice with each other was not going well. Julia of course knew her own, but so far nothing Quentin could come up with would work together to coax a seed into a full-grown tree. 

Also, he was impatient to get back to the cottage for the night. He’d barely seen Eliot for longer than an hour or two in the last week, not since Margo had convinced him to try the emotion bottling spell. It had helped Eliot perform the assigned magic correctly, but it had been strange to have the man act so apathetic towards him, so Quentin had kept his distance any time he saw the glowing bottle hanging from his boyfriend’s neck. 

Dealing with Eliot  _ after  _ he’d swallowed his emotions back down had been… intense. The first night, he’d avoided Quentin altogether, falling asleep on one of the sofas in the common room and refusing to come upstairs, waspish and guarded until Quentin had left him alone, but also hurt that Quentin had offered to sleep in his own room for the night. The second night, Eliot had all but attacked him once he entered the bedroom, ruining Quentin’s shirt as he’d stripped him and swallowed his cock, fingering him almost savagely until he’d come forcefully, his cries echoing through the unwarded room. They’d both passed out moments later. Eliot had gotten a hold of himself somewhat after that, but Quentin had been dealing with a very emotionally charged version of him for days, even if he had learned to hide it slightly better.

_ At least it’s over,  _ he told himself. Their exams had been scheduled for that afternoon, and he’d received a text from Eliot that he’d managed to cast the spells successfully. He was hoping when more were assigned, Eliot would choose to learn them on his own this time.  __

Julia sighed, tossing her pen at her notebook and giving Quentin a flat look. “I don’t think either of us are focused on this right now,” she admitted.

“I can admit to that, but what’s up your butt?” he asked.

She smirked. “Oh, I don’t think I’m the appropriate party to be answering that question at this table, am I?”

Quentin felt himself blushing, but gave her the win with a lift of his brow. “Hey, who knows? But really, what’s got you distracted?”

Julia looked at him uncertainly. “I… I might be in trouble?” she hedged. “Like… fuck, I don’t know how to talk about this,” she laughed.

Seeing this could be serious, Quentin reached his hand across the table to rest on hers. “Hey, Jules. It’s me.”

“I know,” she said with a warm grin. “I just… I never really saw myself as this person. Not that it’s  _ bad.  _ I just don’t know how it works, with me.”

“Is this about Kady?”

Julia threw him a snared glance before nodding. “Figured Eliot noticed that,” she sighed. 

Quentin shrugged. “So you’re sleeping with Kady? I mean, it works how it works, I guess?”

She leveled her eyes on him. “And Penny,” she confessed.

  1. “Oh. Well.” He squirmed a bit in his seat, just hating the thought of it, really. “I really want to ask why? But I won’t. And… are you cheating on someone? Because that would be wrong, yeah, but--”



“Together, Q.” Off Quentin’s confused look, she elaborated. “As in the three of us.”

Quentin sat back in his chair, taking that in. “Well… okay. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, of course. If that’s what you want. Is it what you want?”

“I don’t know!” she cried, laughing. “Penny and Kady slept together first, and then apparently Penny had a thing for  _ me,  _ and that was discussed between the two of them, and Kady wasn’t exactly pissed about it, and… shit just kind of spiraled after that, and it’s hard to keep up. They’re very intense people.”

“I’ve noticed that about them. But it’s okay so far?”

She nodded, looking shocked for the fact. “Like stupidly so? They’re not jealous about anything, but I just keep waiting, you know? I mean, how do three people work like this?”

“I’m not exactly an expert, but… I guess I’m kind of in the same boat. A little. A foot in the boat,” he amended. 

“You mean with Eliot and Margo?”

“Yeah. I mean, we haven’t done anything like that. We might never. But I know Margo is just as important to El as I am. And he tells her  _ everything,  _ so we might as well all just fuck at this point, honestly,” he joked.

Julia giggled, then slammed her textbook shut. “So, are we in agreement to give this up for the night?”

“Completely. I’ll even let you pull my circumstances tomorrow, because fuck this.”

“Sounds good to me. Isn’t there a party tonight?”

“Isn’t there always?” he asked in a tired tone.

“Well, I’m going with you, then. I could use a drink or four.”

“I don’t know what it’s going to be like, after everyone spent the last week learning battle magic. It’s been… quiet.” 

“Well, it’s either going to be the dullest party ever, or pure chaos.”

*

“Definitely the chaos one!” Quentin shouted as they entered the common room, his voice still barely audible over the heavy bass pounding through the floor and walls. The downstairs was dark and smoky, with different hues and shapes of lights racing and strobing through the space. The first floor was packed, and he wondered if the entire second and third year classes had managed to crowd themselves into the cottage. 

Quentin managed to squeeze through the crowd after Julia, wondering if he’d find Eliot down here or upstairs. They  _ did  _ have plans, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Eliot had wanted to take an hour or two to relax after the week he’d been through. 

“Coldwater!”

Quentin kept his fingers around Julia’s wrist as he turned to locate Margo, finally spotting her as she shoved herself between a couple grinding against one another. Her eyes were wide as she approached and he quickly grew suspicious as he studied her plastic expression. “Margo, what are you on?” 

“Well, Josh brought these cupcakes,” she replied, all innocence. All  _ Bambi.  _ “And Eliot  _ may  _ have had one, thinking it was just an innocent little edible?”

Quentin’s face fell and he gave Margo a flat look. “What was it?”

“I mean, it  _ was _ weed, but also with a  _ tiny  _ little inhibition inhibitor in it?” She held her fingers an inch apart, stumbling over the similar sounding words and looked at him sheepishly. 

“Oh, Christ,” Quentin groaned. “Where is he?”

“I think over by the books, but… Q, you’re not gonna go through with--”

_ “No,”  _ he replied, completely unaffected by the fact Margo knew he’d planned on fucking Eliot. Of course she knew. “But I need to keep an eye on him.”

She nodded in agreement, and her wide-eyed eagerness to comply was worrisome. “How bad is he?” he asked. 

She frowned. “Just… he’s still gonna  _ try.  _ You might have your hands full.” She giggled a bit at the thought before forcing her expression back to one of stoned composure. 

“Fucking awesome,” he laughed darkly, before looking to Julia. “You good? I have to go baby-sit.”

“Oh no, I’m with you. I’ve gotta see this.”

Quentin blew out a heavy breath but shrugged before leading Julia towards the library area of the common room, moving sideways around several writhing people as he approached. He glimpsed a flash of Eliot before someone blocked his view, and he shouldered his way past them. 

“Oh,  _ shit,”  _ Julia cackled as their eyes settled on the scene. 

Eliot was standing behind Victoria, and the blonde was grinding her ass against his hip, her head settled back against his chest as she laughed. He had one hand on Victoria’s side as he rolled his hips against her, and Victoria’s arms were wrapped around the neck of…

Joey. 

Eliot’s other hand was on Joey’s hip, who was dancing  _ very  _ suggestively against Victoria, and the two men were obviously trading lyrics to the incredibly raunchy song pounding through the common room, laughing wildly as they tried to outdo one another, and  _ how  _ did Eliot even know the words to this? He insulted Todd and Josh’s tastes in music almost weekly. 

Eliot was sweating profusely, his hair a mess and his shirt completely unbuttoned, though he still had a vest on. He’d also apparently covered his face in glitter at some point, or someone had. 

Eliot’s eyes swept the crowd, and Quentin froze when the man’s intoxicated gaze landed on him, eyes widening in absolute delight. “Quentin!”

“Oh, you are in for it,” Julia laughed near his shoulder.

Quentin reluctantly moved forward and Eliot held out his arm to drag him close. Victoria and Joey kept dancing but smiled as Quentin was dragged into their orbit. “I  _ missed  _ you,” Eliot purred in his ear, his hand kneading the back of Quentin’s neck. 

“Are you sure?” Quentin asked lightly. “You look pretty busy.”

“I was waiting, and got bored,” Eliot told him with a huge grin. “And Joey needs to have sex. Victoria has agreed to give him a test drive. Isn’t that right, darling?” She nodded distractedly, and Joey grinned at Quentin over her shoulder, his pupils blown. 

“Well, it’s nice of you to help?” Quentin tried, not knowing what else to say.

“Joey doesn’t need help, but I was happy to. He’ll stop looking at you like  _ that  _ if he has someone to distract him. He thinks I’m right, anyway. I usually am.”

“Is that so?” 

Eliot nodded resolutely, his expression serious for a moment before it broke and he giggled. He looked down at Quentin in fascination, his eyes hungry, and Quentin gasped when he was suddenly pulled against him, Eliot’s hands greedy on his hips. He vaguely felt Victoria’s ass moving against his own hip now. “Dance with me, baby.”

“El, you know I can’t dance.”

“I don’t believe you.” Eliot moved against him, holding Quentin’s hips in place. 

“I promise I’m not lying. And I thought this music was ‘basic?’ But you really seem to be enjoying it suddenly. Words and all,” he said with exaggerated curiosity, smirking up at his boyfriend.

  
  


Eliot mockingly glared down at him. “I was a bartender for  _ years,  _ Q.  _ You _ try not learning the words. Besides, it’s  _ dirty,”  _ he confessed, his eyes trained on Quentin’s lips. “And I’ve been thinking all night about what that mouth do.”

Quentin held back a laugh, wondering if he’d be bringing Eliot breakfast  _ under  _ the bed in the morning. 

But now Eliot was pouting, and Quentin mentally reeled a bit, struggling to keep up.. “Q,  _ touch  _ me.”

He rested his hands on the small of Eliot’s back, under his shirt. “That’s all you get.”

Eliot smirked, his eyes dancing. “Until you fuck me.” He glanced towards the stairs, his eyes turning devious and thrilled. “Actually, fuck this party. Let’s do that.”

“Oh, El, no,” Quentin told him, holding him in place. “I am not fucking you tonight; you kind of ruined that.”

Eliot sank back against the bookshelf, causing it to rattle beneath his weight. “What? Why.”

Quentin shook with silent laughter. “El, I’d kind of like you to remember it, is all.”

Eliot grinned, his teeth and tongue showing. “Oh, I remember  _ everything  _ with you, Coldwater,” he said, giving Quentin the most seductive look in his inventory. 

He shook his head. “Sorry. Not happening.”

Eliot looked at him petulantly for a moment before relenting with an arched brow. “Fine. But you have to dance with me.”

“Eliot. I can’t dance.”

“I could spell you,” he threatened.

“You could, and then you’ll  _ never _ get laid.”

Eliot pouted like a fucking anime schoolboy. “You are ruining my evening, my love.”

That was a new term of endearment, causing Quentin to smile. “Well… how about you keep dancing, but now you can do it  _ for  _ me?” Eliot’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You can even dance with Joey.”

“Hmmm. You won’t get jealous?”

“Are you going to fuck him?”

“No,” Eliot replied immediately, patting the side of Quentin’s face, a little harder than necessary. “All my fucks are for you.”

Quentin did snort at that, but nodded, backing away from his boyfriend to point at the arm of one of the sofas. “I’ll be right there, okay?”

Eliot let him walk away, and Quentin pulled Julia onto the sofa against him while she caught her breath from laughing through the entirety of the exchange, though she hadn’t heard most of it. But minutes later, Eliot pulled her back up, and Quentin laughed as he watched the two of them dance, Julia looking at him in shocked amusement a few times when Eliot got a little handsy, putting on a full performance for his boyfriend.

He watched Eliot dance with Margo, Joey, Todd, and at one point  _ on  _ Penny, who’d just looked  _ disturbed  _ before he’d managed to escape. And Eliot knew  _ way  _ too many lyrics to the hardcore rap he’d always claimed to loathe. After the whole “Daddy” fiasco, Quentin fully intended to bring this fact up once his boyfriend was sober.

He eventually had to force Eliot to take a break, bringing him a bottle of water and pulling the taller man down against his shoulder as he sipped from the container. Quentin was talking to Kady, who for some reason seemed to be trying to make conversation with him. He figured Julia had told her he knew about their complicated relationship, and he thought her effort towards him was strangely sweet. 

But then Kady snorted, and off Quentin’s questioning glance, she pointed towards Eliot.

Who was asleep, the bottle still in his hand. 

“Jesus Christ,” Quentin laughed, running his fingers through Eliot’s damp curls. Kady laughed along with him, snatching the bottle from Eliot’s hand as it started to tilt. 

“You need help with him?” 

“I mean, probably. He can’t float himself to the bedroom.”

“I’ll get Penny,” she told him, hopping up from the arm of the sofa. 

“C...nnn. Wok. Doin’ it,” Eliot garbled, shifting against Quentin’s side as his eyes opened, glassy and bloodshot. 

“No, you’re not,” Quentin told him, somehow understanding what he’d attempted to say, or at least his intent. 

Penny soon arrived, and Quentin helped him pull Eliot up from the sofa and walk him slowly up the stairs and into his bedroom, where Penny unceremoniously pushed Eliot onto the bed, face first. Eliot lifted his arm in thanks before it flopped back to the mattress. “You have fun with that,” Penny told Quentin, leaving the room. 

Quentin closed the door behind him before undressing down to his boxers, smiling as Eliot began snoring. He pulled off his boyfriend’s shoes and began trying to wrangle his unhelpful form out of his clothes, having to put himself in all kinds of strange positions to manage it. He was worn out by the time Eliot was sprawled across the bed in his underwear, his mouth hanging open gracelessly. 

Thinking he should also address the glitter situation, Quentin wet a washcloth in the bathroom before returning to press it to Eliot’s face, who inhaled sharply at the contact. “Sorry,” Quentin told him. “I don’t want you getting any of this crap in your eyes.”

“Mmmm. Sorry, Q.”

“It’s not really your fault. Just maybe be more careful around random cupcakes?”

“Evil desserts,” Eliot hissed softly. 

“Jeez, this shit is really on there.”

“Oh. Um. Oil?” Eliot slurred. “Cabinet.”

Quentin returned to the bathroom, finding Eliot’s coconut oil under the sink and returning to work a small amount of it across his face. Eliot hummed like he was experiencing a spa day, causing Quentin to grin as he removed the oil and glitter with the damp cloth. 

Tossing the washcloth in the sink, he returned to the bed. “Do you think you can get yourself up onto a pillow?” he asked. 

Eliot nodded, his eyes barely open as he crawled his way up the bed, collapsing against his pillow. “You?”

“I’m coming,” Quentin told him, turning off the light and settling next to Eliot, pulling him close this time, and Eliot squirmed until his head was resting on Quentin’s chest. “Still sorry, baby,” he breathed, already half asleep again.

Quentin curled his fingers through Eliot’s hair with a smile. “I might let you make it up to me when you’re sober.”

“Yessirrrr.”

A second later, Eliot was snoring again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	36. Dusk Till Dawn

_ Quentin _

Quentin was confused when he woke the following morning, eyes still closed as he felt the lightest touches against his face, his lips. It took him a moment to realize it was Eliot, kissing him. His chin, his brow, the tip of his nose... 

“El?” He opened his eyes to find Eliot smiling down at him, his knees framing Quentin’s hips. 

“You took care of me,” Eliot told him with a pleased grin, leaning down to kiss him so sweetly that Quentin couldn’t help but smile against his lips. 

“What, you thought I’d just leave you like that?” he asked when Eliot drew back a bit, his eyes still bright. 

“No, not exactly, but you had a right to be mad, at least.”

“Well, you were kind of hilarious, Tech Nine,” he teased and Eliot’s eyes flared with embarrassment and mirth. 

_ “Don’t _ speak of it.”

“Okay, baby boy,” Quentin threw back at him, and Eliot looked down at him in shock.

“Don’t start things you can’t hope to finish,  _ Daddy,”  _ he warned, lightly biting his chin. 

“Oh, I’d finish them if you weren’t hungover.”

Eliot squinted down at him. “I’m not, Q. It was the cupcake; I only had, like, three drinks.”

“Oh?” He looked at Eliot more closely, noticing his hair was clean and his face smooth. “How long have you been awake?”

“Just long enough to shower and smoke, why?”

Quentin grinned wickedly, reaching his hand up to brush Eliot’s cock through his underwear, watching as his boyfriend’s eyes closed momentarily, his brow arching as he smirked. “Well, okay.”

“Kiss me, rap god,” he ordered, pulling Eliot down by the neck.

“I don’t kiss assholes,” Eliot chuckled, but kissed Quentin tenderly anyway. Quentin turned it into something greedier after a few moments, holding Eliot’s neck as he licked into his mouth, sucked on his lip. Soon, Eliot was sighing against him, a little breathless as he settled himself between Quentin’s thighs, grinding against his hip. 

“Roll over,” Quentin whispered before tugging at his lip with his teeth.

“Why? This is nice.”

“Because I’m not done taking care of you.”

He felt Eliot’s slow smile before he drew away to lay back against the bed and Quentin rolled to lay at his side, continuing their kiss. His hand cradled Eliot’s jaw for a moment before roaming down his chest, lightly scratching through the hair there before tweaking a nipple. Eliot made a pleased sound and Quentin’s lips left his to make a slow path down his neck, licking at his collarbone before he drew the other nipple into his mouth, lightly biting at it before flicking it with his tongue. He brushed his hand down Eliot’s stomach, trying not to smile as he felt the muscles jerk under his light touch before he reached to draw his boyfriend’s cock out from his briefs, stroking it gently as Eliot moaned into his mouth, his back arching slightly.

Quentin moved down the bed, pushing Eliot’s underwear to his thighs as he licked the head of his cock, his hand still gripping the base. He wasn’t confident with this yet, but he was willing to spend all the time needed to master it. The sounds Eliot made when he was being blown were like a drug to him, and he loved the weight in his mouth, the stretch of his lips.

“Oh,  _ Q,”  _ Eliot sighed raggedly, his fingertips sliding over Quentin’s scalp as he teased him with his tongue. 

Encouraged, Quentin slid his mouth down, taking as much of Eliot as he could, and trying not to smile when Eliot hurriedly pulled his hair from his face, always wanting to watch. He set a slow rhythm with his mouth and hand, taking his time, listening to everything that got a reaction from his boyfriend. Eventually, he moved from Eliot’s side to drag his underwear off before settling in between his legs to continue. 

Quentin dared to look up a few moments later, finding Eliot’s gaze focused intensely on him, his lips parted and small patches of red high on his cheeks. Eliot wet his lips as their eyes met, and Quentin flattened his tongue as he dragged it up Eliot’s cock, his own twitching as he watched his boyfriend’s eyes roll back, his lips moving against the air as if there was something there to bite. 

Emboldened, Quentin released his cock to kiss slowly down towards the base, his hand parting Eliot’s thighs further as he ran a flat tongue over his balls.

“Oh,  _ fuck.”  _

Quentin smiled a bit, pleased with himself. But now he needed instruction. “El, teach me that spell,” he said, teasing his fingers behind Eliot’s balls. 

“Q?” 

He looked up to find Eliot looking quietly bemused. “What? Do you not want to?”

Eliot nodded quickly, just a slight movement. “No, I want to. I just… yes. Okay.” His eyes went slightly more alert. “Quick talk, though?”

“Sure.”

“Up here for a sec?”

Quentin crawled up Eliot’s body, settling just above his hips as he looked down at him expectantly.

Eliot looked up at him through his lashes. “Part of that request was for kissing purposes.”

“Oh,” Quentin laughed, leaning down to press his lips against Eliot’s. He pulled away when Eliot’s tongue worked its way into his mouth, his hands greedily squeezing his thighs. “Eliot, the point?” he reminded him after a moment. 

“Oh. Right.” Quentin let Eliot take his hand and manipulate his fingers, walking him through the simple tut.

“That’s it?”

“Mm-hm. Now, if you want flavors, it gets more complicated.”

Quentin snorted. “We’re a fucked up type of people,” he mumbled.

“Aren’t we? Okay, the other thing.” Eliot looked up at him, a bit of nervousness visible in his eyes. “You’re sure? I’m not trying to ruin the mood…”

Quentin smiled down at him. “El, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Just… do you want to stay like this?”

“Do you?” Quentin asked.

Eliot nodded. “It’s probably easiest, and…” That shy look returned, and Quentin tried not to show how thrilled he was to see it. “I’d like to see you.”

“Whatever you want, El.”

“Okay.” He grabbed Quentin’s pillow from next to him, grinning a bit. “Now, back to where you were, please.”

Quentin rolled his eyes with a smile, but swung his leg off of his boyfriend to crawl between his thighs again, watching as Eliot pulled the pillow under his hips. “That should help,” he said. “And it’s been… awhile, so you’ll have to spend some time with your fingers first, okay?”

“Mm-hm. You’ll let me know?”

“I will.” He smiled. “This is terrible, I already miss kissing you.”

“I’ll come back,” Quentin promised, lowering himself to lick at Eliot’s cock again, delighting in the sharp gasp the man made, the soft groan that followed as Quentin rolled his lip over the head. He performed the tut, feeling the slick substance that immediately covered his fingers. He briefly wondered what it was made of, how the spell worked, but quickly shoved the thought aside. Definitely not the time. 

Deciding he needed to see Eliot too, Quentin straightened a bit as he brushed his fingers against Eliot’s hole, just a light touch, but Eliot’s face went slack immediately, his eyes falling shut as he breathed in, his chest expanding. He then pressed against the tight circle of muscle before dragging his fingers up towards Eliot’s balls, delighting in the twitch of the man’s hips. 

On the next pass, Quentin carefully pressed inside, moving just the tip of his finger within. His free hand circled the base of Eliot’s cock again, stroking lightly, and he watched Eliot’s mouth fall open. Just watching Eliot threatened to send him into that familiar daze, and he had to force himself to remain focused; this wasn’t about him. 

“Q, more,” Eliot rasped, and he moved his finger further inside, curling it a bit, watching Eliot’s shoulders flatten against the bed. He gripped his cock tightly in his fist, squeezing up the length, pressing his thumb against the frenulum. He wasn’t a professional with his mouth, but at  _ this,  _ Eliot had made it very clear he was already perfect. He worked his finger all the way inside Eliot as he jerked him off almost roughly, until Eliot was fucking up into his hand, throwing his head to the side to expose his flushing neck. Quentin moved his finger in time with Eliot’s thrusts, hypnotized as he writhed and moaned. 

“Another,” Eliot all but growled, and Quentin moved to comply, working his index finger inside as he held Eliot’s cock at the base. The second was easier, and he pressed his finger’s against the bundle of nerves inside, gasping when Eliot cried out, his hips stuttering.  _ “Goddamn it, Quentin.” _

“Good?” he asked, a little unsure. Eliot only made a strange noise in response, almost like a singing, growled hum, which he had to assume was positive. 

“You need to… hands off my dick for now,” he panted. “Don’t wanna come.”

Quentin removed his hand, using his fingers to fuck into Eliot more intently instead, eyes flaring a little when Eliot lifted his leg to hook it over his shoulder, drawing him closer. He quickly moved to hold his thigh there, giving Eliot the freedom to move his hips. He didn’t think he’d been this turned on in his life, feeling his untouched cock leaking onto the fabric of his boxers. 

He knew what to do now, had felt Eliot working him open just days ago when he’d been hungover from the emotion bottle; he spread his fingers, drawing them almost all the way out before plunging back in, staring as Eliot let out a choked cry, his hands moving to sink into his hair, pulling at it before they dragged down his face, his chest heaving. 

He continued the motion, alternating between spreading his fingers and pressing against Eliot’s prostate, addicted to the harsh cries spilling from his lover, the long whines and broken sighs. He’d never imagined he could be capable of making Eliot fall apart this way; he was usually so confident and controlled. He’d never really imagined Eliot giving in like this, like Quentin so readily did, and it was hypnotizing to watch. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he worked Eliot open, but grew concerned when he looked at him with something almost resembling fear. “El? Are you--”

“Now, Q. Fuck me. Okay?” 

God, he sounded so wrecked, and Quentin swallowed a moan, nodding. He carefully withdrew his fingers, having to release Eliot’s leg once he remembered he still had his boxers on. He kicked them off hastily, quickly moving his fingers to perform the tut again before slicking them over his cock. He adjusted his knees on the mattress as he rested his free hand on Eliot’s hip, caressing it tenderly as he lined himself up, his nerves suddenly trying to rise. God, what if he fucked this up?

“Q.”

He looked to Eliot’s face again, still seeing that unfamiliar look in his eyes, but Eliot only moved his hand to cover Quentin’s over his hip. “You can stop, if you want.”

Quentin shook his head hurriedly. “Just… you’re good to me, El. You know? I want… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Baby, you can’t,” Eliot promised him. “Please, just…”

Quentin nodded, keeping his eyes focused on Eliot’s, needing that anchor to steady him as he pressed forward, shuddering at the sensation as the head of his cock pushed its way  _ inside,  _ and oh,  _ God. _

Eliot seemed to agree, groaning before he spoke. “All of you, Q. Now.  _ Please.” _

Quentin felt Eliot’s hand tense over his and he gripped at his hip, thrusting slowly inside until he bottomed out and Eliot  _ sobbed,  _ throwing his arm over his mouth as Quentin was forced to go still for a moment, trembling as he adjusted to the feeling of Eliot surrounding him. “Fuck,” he gasped. 

Eliot slowly removed his arm from his face, sliding it back over his hair as he visibly swallowed. “You can move,” he whispered. “Please.”

Quentin moved his hips slowly, barely drawing out before pressing forward and Eliot hummed low in his throat, his eyes closed. He reached for Quentin, and Quentin took his hand, letting Eliot draw him down for a kiss.

Quentin thrust deeper when Eliot’s tongue dove into his mouth, twisting his hips as he braced his hands on the bed, setting a careful rhythm; at this angle he didn’t want to slip out, and it was a near thing. Eliot’s lips fell lax against his and he drew back to watch his face, watched his mouth form a perfect “o” as his eyebrows drew together. It was intoxicating, being responsible for this. 

It took several attempts, but Quentin eventually found Eliot’s prostate again, and moved against it every few thrusts, exulting at the soft little wails Eliot rewarded him with. He was sweating now, his perfect skin glistening in the morning light as he trembled all over, his hands roaming over Quentin’s shoulders and through his hair, never still.

Remembering all the times Eliot had brought him to tears, brought him that perfect fucking peace, Quentin was suddenly determined to take him there, confident in the fact he hadn’t fucked up yet. Slowly, he leaned up and lifted Eliot’s leg again, bending a little and sighing with hidden relief when Eliot immediately curled it over his shoulder. He turned his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his thigh, lightly biting as he thrust deeper, driving into Eliot until he whimpered. He moved his right hand to lift Eliot’s ass for more leverage, fucking into him roughly. Eliot let out a long string of curses before crying Quentin’s name, his face flushing. 

The brutal pace he’d set soon had Quentin’s balls drawing up and he felt his thighs beginning to tremble. “El, I’m close,” he gasped. 

Eliot opened his eyes, looking at him through a drugged stupor. “Touch me,” he whispered. 

Quentin leaned closer, bending Eliot’s leg back a bit more as he began to jerk him off, his hips snapping against Eliot’s ass, but it was quickly becoming difficult to maintain any kind of rhythm as he started to moan from the sensation, gulping for air. 

“Oh Q, come for me, baby. So fucking  _ pretty,”  _ he heard Eliot cry softly, and Quentin was  _ gone,  _ whimpering as he emptied into Eliot, almost falling forward as he pumped his cock into him, but Eliot caught him, holding him there with his leg until he slowly came back to himself. 

“Get up here,” Eliot ordered breathlessly, and Quentin hissed as he slowly withdrew his oversensitive cock before crawling slowly up over him with languid limbs. 

“I could blow you,” Quentin whispered against his mouth. 

“No, need you,” Eliot whined, finding Quentin’s hand and wrapping it around his cock as he pulled at his lip with tiny, gentle bites and little flicks of his tongue. “‘M close, anyway.  _ God _ , Q.”

Quentin moved his hand over Eliot, wanting him to come, but more focused on his mouth as it moved over his, gentle and savage at once, his fingers trembling as they held Quentin’s face. 

When he heard a slight sniffle, Quentin gripped him tightly, determined once more to give this beautiful man everything he deserved. “Come for me, El,” he whispered. “Please, baby?” 

Eliot cried a faint  _ “yes, Quentin”  _ against his lips, his hips rolling sharply only a few times before Quentin felt him start to come within his hand. He held his grip steady until the throbbing subsided, pressing his lips to Eliot’s softly as he gradually relaxed beneath him. 

Leaning up a little, Quentin looked down to find tears streaming from Eliot’s eyes, but the corners of his lips were turned up in the hint of a smile. “Good?” he asked softly.

Eliot nodded slowly, his eyes opening and roaming across Quentin’s face. “Perfect, baby. That was…” He gave a helpless tilt of his brow, seemingly at a loss for words. “You?”

“I think I might be tying you to this bed,” Quentin laughed softly. “Sorry about graduating.”

That got a slightly more alert laugh from Eliot. “I’m not opposed.” His gaze turned a little shy. “Shower with me?”

“Of course,” Quentin murmured, catching his lips once more before slowly sitting up. “Oh, shit, I don’t think my legs are gonna cooperate for this,” he laughed. 

Eliot climbed out of bed more easily, though Quentin caught him wince a little as he stepped onto the floor. He turned to help Quentin down from the bed, holding him by the hips as he tested his weight. “Got it, I think,” he said after a moment, but Eliot still held his hand as he led him to the bathroom. 

Inside, Quentin leaned against the sink as Eliot started the shower, testing the temperature of the water before stepping under the spray and gesturing for Quentin to join him. 

The water was a little cooler than he preferred it, but Eliot was blocking most of the spray as he shut the sliding door. “My stuff isn’t in here,” Quentin reminded him. 

Eliot shrugged, his eyes focused down. “You can smell like me for a day,” he said quietly, lifting his hand, and Quentin watched two washcloths float over the door before he caught them, folding one over the shower door before wetting the other under the spray. He chose one of the rough blocks of soap from the shelf in the corner, folding the cloth around it.

“Where do you get that stuff, anyway?” Quentin asked.

“One of the Nature students. She makes all kinds. It’s better for your skin.” Eliot lathered up the washcloth and Quentin smiled as Eliot began washing his neck. The soap  _ did  _ smell good, but Eliot always smelled amazing, so it was hardly surprising. 

Quentin kept trying to catch Eliot’s eye as he washed him, but Eliot would only give him a tiny smile and look away again, focusing on scrubbing his elbows or dragging the cloth down his stomach. He didn’t even smirk when he gently washed Quentin’s cock with careful hands. 

It was when Eliot was washing his hair that Quentin saw it; the slightest little tremble of Eliot’s chin. It was quickly corrected and Eliot smiled. “This is for my hair, so I’m not exactly sure what yours is going to look like today.” Still that quiet voice, devoid of any theatrics. 

“I can just pull it back,” Quentin replied, not wanting to ask Eliot if something was wrong just yet. He was familiar with feeling a bit fragile after any kind of sex he and Eliot had had so far, the emotions he’d felt hard to process once it was over. Eliot always made sure to hold him until he felt ready to move on from the moment and back into reality, keeping his voice low and comforting, giving him shelter, silently letting him know he was…

Loved.

Eliot directed Quentin under the water, helping him rinse his hair, and once that was done Quentin grabbed the other washcloth and lathered it, looking up at Eliot for permission. He only nodded a bit, and Quentin realized that the careful mask that was such a part of Eliot, just as much as his curls and his cleft chin and his aquiline nose, was completely stripped away for the moment. 

Quentin wasn’t afraid. He slowly began washing Eliot, catching another tremble of his chin as he gently scrubbed the come from his belly. “You okay, El?” he asked softly, keeping his eyes trained on his own hand. 

“Of course,” Eliot replied, his voice a bit rough. 

Quentin lifted his gaze, stepping forward a bit to kiss his chin, hearing the slight inhalation of Eliot’s breath. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked, stepping back on his foot as he ran the washcloth down Eliot’s ribs. 

Eliot shook his head, but looked regretful. “I’m not… Q, you know how bad I am with words…” His voice broke a little, his eyes going glassy. “I’m okay.”

Quentin rested his hands on Eliot’s hips. “Okay. But… sometimes I’m not terrible at words, so can I give you a few for free?”

Eliot nodded, looking slightly confused. 

Quentin smiled softly up at him. “I love you.”

Eliot’s lip trembled violently, his features contorting in a way that looked like he wanted to smile but also might start ugly sobbing at the same time. He stepped close, resting his forehead against Quentin’s, breathing deeply. He brought his hands up to rest on Quentin’s shoulders, his thumbs rubbing across his collar bones as he exhaled a sharp, silent laugh that was close to a sob. 

“Those were the ones, yeah,” he whispered. 

  
  
  


  
  



	37. Come A Little Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm posting two chapters today, since this one is short. Bad news, that means I'll be leaving you in an unfortunate place. But I'll be back tomorrow!

_ The following Thursday. _

_ Eliot _

Eliot was sitting up in bed that night with a textbook and a cigarette as he waited for Quentin to join him, trying to learn the basics of molecular acceleration and failing spectacularly. He knew Quentin was helping Joey study and he’d promised not to wait up. Quentin’s friend had not only passed his entrance exam, but it had been decided that if he could complete the assigned work over the next few months, he could advance to second year after the summer. 

But Eliot’s thoughts kept drifting to the night before, and his eyes slipped shut with a soft smile as he recalled all the bewitching sounds Quentin had made for him, the soft anguish and euphoria on his face in the candlelight as he’d stared down at Eliot through the veil of his hair. The way Quentin could move his hips was fucking  _ criminal,  _ and he’d been so goddamn  _ tight.  _ Eliot still felt faintly embarrassed over how quickly he’d come, but the blame clearly didn’t lie with him, so he refused to acknowledge it. Still, any opportunity to redeem himself couldn’t be ignored, and he didn’t intend to go to sleep until he seized it.

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Eliot sighed and tried to refocus on the paragraph he’d started a dozen times over.  _ “The process of acceleration can be hindered by the proximity of seawater and adjustments should be made to circumstances involv--” _

The bedroom door opened, and Eliot snapped the book shut.  _ Oh, thank fuck. _

Quentin entered the room with a small smile as he closed the door behind him, already shrugging out of his shirt as he approached the bed. 

“How’d it go?” Eliot asked, placing the book on his nightstand and putting out his cigarette.

Quentin gave him a mildly impressed glance as he continued to undress. “I actually feel kind of bad that I was surprised they offered to advance him. He knows a lot of fucking magic. I guess I just assumed hedges didn’t.”

“A lot of them don’t; I’m no expert, but I think it’s kind of a ‘who you know’ deal.”

“Well, he must have known some people. I went through my notes all the way up to November, and there were only eight spells he couldn’t cast. And three of those, he’d heard of. He’s going to work on all that and let me know.”

“Shit,” Eliot replied, a bit surprised. 

“Yeah.” Quentin climbed up onto the bed, but instead of curling up next to Eliot, he took a seat across from him, still wearing his boxers. Which was disappointing. “I was kind of wanting to maybe ask you something, though.” Eliot sat up in interest. “I mean, it’s not a big deal either way, so don’t think that. I just kind of thought it made sense. But I won’t be upset at all if you don’t want to, it just kind of seemed to--”

“Q.”

Quentin looked at him sheepishly. “Well, it’s just that Joey passed his exam.”

“Of which we’ve both been aware, yes.”

“And, well, he’s probably going to be placed in the cottage with us.”

“Most likely,” Eliot agreed with a nod.

“And you know how much the dorms kind of suck, and he’s already making friends here.”

“He is very personable.” He had no idea where Quentin was going with this, but it was just too enjoyable watching him flounder to cast him a net.

“Well, the cottage is full right now, you know?”

Eliot’s eyes narrowed. “Until the semester ends, anyway.” 

“And… I kind of sleep in here every night already…”

_ Oh.  _ Eliot’s eyes flashed as he grinned. “Quentin, are you asking to officially move in with me?”

Quentin flushed darkly. “I mean… not if you don’t want me to. Like I said, I’d understand if you want your, um, space.”

Eliot waved his hand as if shoo-ing the notion away. “You should know by now I’m not exactly familiar with the concept. Of course you can give your little friend your room and stay here.”

“What about your precious closet space?” he asked with a lift of his brow.

Eliot mockingly glared at him before facing the closet and lifting his hands to cast a spell that was very familiar within the walls of the Physical Kids cottage. It took several minutes, because it was a quick and dirty version of Thibideau’s Planar Compression combined with a simple personal organizational charm  _ and _ a first year glamour, with a few odds and ends thrown in. It could definitely never be called a sophisticated spell, but it usually got the job done. Once finished, Eliot slid off the bed and retrieved a pair of pants to slip on from his dresser. “Let’s go get your clothes, hm?”

“What did you do?” Quentin asked, looking at the clothes hanging within the closet, unmoved.

“The same spell that’s on the fridge and every cabinet and drawer in the house. And my bar,” he added with an arched brow. “It’s... kind of like a revolving door. You only see what you need to, but there’s room enough for everything.”

Quentin’s mouth fell open. “I had… never actually noticed that.”

Eliot laughed. “Yes, dear. Twenty people live in this house and eat out of one fridge.” He pressed his hand to the small of Quentin’s back, herding him into the hall. “Clothes.”

Quentin grabbed about a third of his clothes from his closet down the hall and Eliot followed behind him, floating the contents of Quentin’s dresser through the hall in front of him, because he did have drawer space; most of his wardrobe didn’t appreciate being folded. 

Eliot placed Quentin’s things in the empty drawers without lifting a hand, smiling when he heard his boyfriend grumbling about what a show off he was as he returned to his soon to be former bedroom for another load of clothes. Eliot met him in the hall to take them from his arm, a lame apology for absolutely being a show off, and let Quentin follow him with the rest. 

Eliot hung the clothes carefully in the closet, pushing his own aside, silently amused by Quentin’s expression as he was able to continue making room on the metal rod.

“Okay,” Eliot spoke once everything was inside. He flicked his finger, satisfied when his own clothes appeared, all neatly divided once more. Repeating the motion, Quentin’s clothes were revealed instead. “Problem solved.” He turned to the other man, grinning suggestively. “We should celebrate.”

Quentin’s eyes narrowed before he turned away to crawl into bed. “If that means passing the fuck out, then I agree,” he replied, gracelessly situating himself under the comfortor. 

Eliot waited until he was settled before pouncing, all feline grace as he caged Quentin between his arms and legs to look down at him with a playful pout. “But I want things.”

Quentin gave him a wearily amused look in return. “If any of those things involve you and my ass, you’re going to be disappointed,” he grumbled. 

Eliot’s teasing expression fell. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Quentin shook his head. “No, I’m just a little sore.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, El,” he replied with a pointed look.

Since Quentin appeared to be telling the truth, Eliot began to move off of him, but yelped when a loud groan sounded throughout the room, followed by a rustling sound that ended in a soft thud. 

“Oh, shit,” Quentin laughed as Eliot turned to look over his shoulder, still tensed. 

A large pile of clothes lay on the floor next to the bed, having clearly been ejected from the closet. 

Eliot sat up with a frown. “Well, fuck. I guess maybe this place has reached its capacity on spells. Took long enough, really.”

“Are you sure you did it right?” Quentin asked as Eliot settled down beside him.

“Please, I could do that spell in my sleep. Q, have you ever done a Reveal downstairs? You can’t even see through all the magic that’s been done.” He sighed. “I suppose we should probably look into a clean up of some sorts before the whole house collapses.”

“I mean, maybe. I guess I should take my clothes back to my room for now, though.”

Eliot draped himself over the man, shaking his head as he flipped off the lights with a thought. “Leave them. I’ll… order an armoire or something tomorrow.”

Quentin laughed, but the clothes remained on the floor.

*

The next afternoon, Eliot finally managed to find enough focus to devote his attention to his latest assigned reading. Margo was reclined against his side on the sofa, scrolling through her phone while Quentin helped Joey move his meager belongings upstairs from the first year dorms.

“So, if Quentin takes in strays, does that also make them our strays by association?” she murmured quietly, not looking away from her phone. 

Eliot pursed his lips in thought. “I’m not sure, but I’m leaning towards no. I think it’s more about accepting that he has a much larger capacity to care about people than we do.”

“That sounds fucking exhausting. I was pissed enough when I realized I gave a shit about  _ you.” _

Eliot gave her a slow grin. “I apologize for charming my way into your affections, Bambi.”

She glared up at him. “You better not be sorry now.”

Eliot kissed her brow. “No, not really.”

They were interrupted by the front door of the cottage swinging wildly open, revealing a wild-eyed Josh Hoberman. “If anyone’s got any of my stash laying around, get rid of it now,” he announced, hurrying over to the window seat and lifting the cushion to search underneath. 

Eliot sat up, supporting Margo as he moved her away from him. “Josh, what have smoked now?” 

Josh looked towards him, all intensity. “There are fucking Feds on campus, man. I got here as fast as I could, but they’re heading this way.”

Margo met Eliot’s eye, because they both knew that a police presence on campus had to involve Quentin. And now everyone downstairs had their attention focused on Josh.

Eliot wasn’t sure what to do; explaining things to Josh to calm him down would only shift focus to Quentin. And while everyone was aware of Quentin’s involvement with the trafficking ring, no one openly discussed it in front of him. It was a delicate balance of discretion they’d all been maintaining, and Josh was going to fuck it all up.

And then Todd entered the room, and Eliot rolled his eyes, already picturing the two men turning the entire common room upside down, as if any drug Josh ever left in the house lasted for longer than eight hours. 

“Hey, Josh, I think we’re actually okay down here, but there may be some inside that bench upstairs. I think Maria glamoured it into a hacky sack and forgot about it.” Todd shot Eliot a weighted glance before tugging at Josh’s arm and leading him away.

For a moment, Eliot was frozen in place as the two men disappeared upstairs. “Did…”

“Todd just save our asses?” Margo finished, standing from the sofa. “Yeah. We definitely woke up in the wrong universe this morning. Go intercept the suits; I’ll let the boys know.”

Eliot nodded hurriedly, jumping up from the sofa to make his way outside. He smoked a cigarette as he waited for anyone to approach, but he was still waiting when Quentin and Joey joined him. “I’m really not sure Josh was right,” he said with an apologetic glance towards the two.

“Well, knowing Josh, he probably sprinted here to get a lead on them,” Quentin laughed, but it didn’t quite ease the anxiety Eliot could see around his eyes. 

Minutes later, Eliot did spot two dark figures approaching and lit another cigarette to calm his rioting nerves, reaching for Quentin’s hand as he exhaled. “You’ll keep me updated?”

“If I can, yeah. You just want to meet them before everyone starts staring out the windows?” Quentin asked, turning towards Joey.

“Yeah, might as well,” the dark-haired man agreed, and Eliot watched them set off down the path together. He waited until he saw them meet with the assumed agents, and together the four of them turned away from the cottage again, walking towards the campus proper. 

Eliot was heading back inside when he heard Quentin’s voice in his head.  _ We’re staying on campus. Just an interview. _

He sighed.  _ Good luck, Q. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	38. Well Acquainted With Villains

_ Eliot _

Over three hours passed before Quentin let Eliot and Margo know that he and Joey were headed back to the cottage. Margo had her own studying to do, however, so she’d left Eliot alone on the patio to wait. 

When the two men finally joined him, he noticed a distinct difference between them. Joey threw himself into a chair with a slouch, lighting a cigarette with distant eyes, but Quentin was wearing a much more affected expression as he took a seat next to Eliot, and it wasn’t the grief or fear he’d been expecting. 

Quentin looked pissed the fuck off, his usually warm eyes filled with cold fury, his mouth set in a sullen line.

“Q?” Eliot asked, reaching for his hand. 

Quentin folded their hands together, reaching for Eliot’s cigarettes and not even grimacing after he lit it. “They’re fucking arguing over removing the anchor spells. Apparently, it’s a ‘national security issue.’”

“Wait, they didn’t question you?”

“No, they did. Relentlessly,” Quentin sighed, exhaling smoke. “But when they were done with that, we all met in one of the labs. Agents, professors, some board members, I think. They said they can remove the spell; they’ve gotten that much out of Bayati. But they’re only willing to do it on a case by case basis. They won’t give the removal spell to anyone at Brakebills because it  _ was  _ originally written for the military; she just modified it. So, it’s classified, or whatever.”

“Q, I don’t understand,” Eliot confessed. “If you can have it removed, why does it matter who does it?”

Quentin turned to look at him from under his furrowed brow. “Because, El. Case by case means people have to come forward. They don’t know if they’ve located everyone working under Bayati. There could be people out there still under their control, and they’re just… stuck because of fucking… bureaucracy.” Quentin angry flicked ashes towards the tray on the table. 

Eliot’s own brow twitched upwards, taking that in, but he didn’t know what to say in response. He hated to see Quentin so upset over this, but couldn’t offer any assurance that things would change. Eliot knew there was a strong possibility this case would remain open for years; magic could draw secrets from the perpetrators, but only if the correct questions were asked, the right spells applied. 

“Quentin.” Eliot looked towards Joey as he spoke, but he was still staring straight ahead into the darkness, only turning his head towards them a moment later. His eyes were dull, exhaustion leaving his usually animated features flat. “I think it’d be better if you ran the support group when everything is put together.”

Quentin looked at him in confusion. “Why? I can’t… I’m not good at shit like that. Besides, you know a lot of them. I only know you. I don’t know what they’ve been through like you do.” 

Eliot frowned as Joey’s eyes grew glassy under the light of the party lanterns, full of misery. His mouth twisted, but he didn’t speak. It was strange to see the man this way; Eliot knew he had to be affected by what had happened to him, but Joey was a better actor than he had ever hoped to be. He was always smiling and singing, always pointing out any double entendre he could find and flirting shamelessly with anyone who seemed to enjoy it. He’d never seen him get that distant, haunted look in his eyes he so often glimpsed in Quentin’s, and sometimes Eliot even forgot what had led Joey to Brakebills in the first place.

Eliot sat up with concern when a full shudder wracked Joey’s thin frame and he gasped, blinking hard before he laughed mirthlessly, sneering at no one. 

“Joey, what the fuck?” Quentin asked quietly, tossing his cigarette aside. “Are you okay?”

Joey shook his head, pressing his lips together. “I’m just trying to…” He growled low in his throat, his hand curling into a fist on the table as he shuddered again.  _ “Fuck.” _

“El, check him?” Quentin murmured, his eyebrows drawn together.

Eliot shook his head, not understanding how anything magical could be affecting the man, but he quickly lifted his hands, creating the frame for a Reveal. He frowned deeply at the red, angry sparks he could see running like currents over Joey’s form, his eyes widening. Dropping his hands, he looked to Quentin. “There’s something there, but I don’t recognize it.”

“Did they not check you when you first came here?” Quentin asked Joey.

Joey nodded, opening his mouth to speak and immediately wincing, his hand flying up to press against his forehead. 

Quentin cast the Reveal himself, studying Joey through his fingers. “What the… I see it, but it’s… fading? Did Mark cast something different on you?”

Joey took a deep breath, looking up at Quentin. “Not Mark,” he replied, his voice strangled, and Eliot jumped slightly as Joey tried to speak again, but instead barked out a shout, curling up and holding his hands to his head. 

Quentin and Eliot exchanged a panicked glance before Quentin returned his attention to Joey as the man slowly straightened in his seat, breathing shakily. “Joey… you only ever told me about Mark. I don’t know who else could have done this. Is there  _ anything  _ you can say? Because we need to know if there’s someone that’s casting spells at this level besides Bayati.”

Eliot watched as Joey looked up at Quentin again, his eyes large with tears and full of…

Guilt?

“But… you said you’d never heard of her… Why would you...” Quentin’s voice was soft and stunned, but Eliot barely heard it. In his own mind, pieces were interlocking, forming a sickening picture that left him breathless, all too aware of how close his boyfriend was to this man, how close he  _ had  _ been...

All this time.  _ All _ the times he’d left Quentin  _ alone  _ with Joey. The motherfucker was living down the goddamn  _ hall.  _

_ (“He told me that he’ll send someone else to-to  _ collect  _ me.”) _

Joey’s chair went sliding across the concrete, almost throwing him out of it from the force, because Eliot wasn’t allowing him another moment near Quentin. He didn’t notice Quentin look at him in shock as he leapt from his seat to round the table, his eyes fixed on the man. 

“Did she send you here?” he asked calmly, easily jerking his arm free from Quentin’s grasp as he tried to slow Eliot’s stride. “Because suddenly it seems a bit too convenient, how you showed up here right after Mark’s little abduction attempt.” Joey met his deadly gaze with one of tired resignation as Eliot leaned down into his space. 

“El, calm the fuck down,” Quentin spoke from behind him, and Eliot yanked his arm away from his boyfriend again. “Eliot, he  _ can’t  _ answer you, don’t you fucking get that?”

“He doesn’t need to. She made sure he could lie his way in here, for whatever reason, didn’t she? Probably to lure you out,” he said to Quentin. Joey shook his head hurriedly, eyes full of pain. “So, just a spy, then?” He recalled more of Joey’s sad little origin story that he’d learned from Quentin, how he’d tried to “take care” of the other victims he’d met along the way, finding them places to hole up in between commands and shoplifting to get by. He also recalled Quentin’s surprise over Joey’s skill as a magician. Skills he probably hadn’t learned in any safe house. “Is that what you’ve always done for her? Befriended people that were actually fucking suffering and pretended you were one of them? Made sure it was all smooth sailing?” Tears rolled from Joey’s eyes and Eliot smiled cruelly down at him. 

_ “Eliot.” _

He ignored the fury in Quentin’s voice. “Well gig’s up, motherfucker. Because you got stranded here, and no one’s coming to save you.”

Before Eliot could turn away, Joey grabbed his wrist, holding his stare. “Tell Alice,” he breathed. “It’s… intent.” His grip fell away as his eyes slammed shut and he seized in the chair, his entire body tensing before it went limp and he passed out.

*

_ Quentin _

Watching Joey slump in the chair, Quentin shoved Eliot aside to kneel before the man, his eyes widening in alarm when a slow trickle of blood ran out of his friend’s nose. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, reaching out to press his fingers against Joey’s neck, relieved when he found a strong pulse. “Go get Alice,” he ordered his boyfriend. 

“Q, I’m not leaving you--”

“Then fucking text her. Now.” He didn’t turn to see if Eliot obeyed; he was honestly afraid what would happen if he set eyes on Eliot at the moment. 

Several minutes passed in heavy silence until Eliot replied. “Um, she’s still with Fogg but she said she can be here in a few minutes.”

“Fine. I can stay here and wait for her,” he replied, an obvious dismissal.

“I’m not leaving you alone with him.” Eliot’s voice was rough but even.

Quentin finally risked looking over his shoulder. “They’re in custody, Eliot. There’s nothing he can do to me. He’s never  _ tried  _ to do anything to me.”

Eliot’s expression was unmoving as he pointedly took a seat at the table again, crossing his legs. Quentin shook his head, almost snarling as he turned his attention back to Joey, looking for any sign that he was coming to.

The silence was painful as the minutes passed, and Quentin took a deep breath when Alice stepped through the back door, three books clutched in her arms as she hurried to Joey’s side. “I had Penny drop me off, but it took him a minute, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Quentin told her. “You won’t be able to see the spell. It only shows when it’s active, I guess? But he said to tell you ‘it’s intent.’”

Alice settled down on her knees next to Quentin, her nose wrinkling slightly as she looked Joey over, setting her books aside. “There… might be something I can try, but it’s good he’s unconscious.”

Before Quentin could ask, Alice’s hands began to move in sharp, precise motions. Joey’s body twitched a bit before going still again and Alice quickly lifted her hands in a Reveal. 

“Did you just activate it?”

“Mm-hm,” she responded distractedly, squinting as she looked through her fingers. “But I’m not sure which one I’m looking for now.” Off Quentin’s confused glance, she moved her hands towards him, allowing him to take a look.

He gasped sharply. “Fuck,” he whispered. 

Joey was  _ covered  _ in spells now. Seeing a red arc flash through the rest, he raised his finger. “That. That’s what I saw.” He looked back to Alice. “They seriously didn’t see any of these when he first showed up?”

“A few of them, but they were protection charms and shields; they made sense for someone who’s been... victimized. There’s quite a few on him that look like they’re only activated by intent, though. Shit, this is a mess.” She dropped her hands. “I don’t want to activate them again, it probably hurts like hell. One looked like it possibly contained probability formulas? The one that did this, though, that’s definitely secrets magic.”

“But if Bayati cast it… he’s talked about her. I mean,  _ lied  _ about her, I guess. But he could mention her just fine. So… intent?”

Alice reached for the thickest book at her side, opening it from the back and paging through the indexes. “There are several spells that are based on intent, but if this is anything like the anchor she wrote, I’m not going to find the exact one in here. From what Eliot said, it sounds like he tried to go against it.”

“So he can talk about her as long as he keeps her secrets,” Quentin sighed. 

“Sounds that way,” Alice agreed.

“Do you think it can be removed?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to tell Fogg; he’ll consider Joey a threat until it  _ is _ removed, so maybe it won’t move as slowly as everything else.”

Joey started to wake as Alice spoke, blinking at the two of them as he sat up slightly. When he focused his eyes on Quentin, he immediately looked around, his eyes glancing off Eliot at the table. “Q, you should get inside.”

“Hey. We’re going to get this off of you, okay?”

Joey rolled his eyes in a defeated way, like what Quentin had said was ridiculous. “Sure. Um, just… it’s fine. I won’t be here by morning. It’s whatever.” He stood from his chair, forcing Quentin and Alice to move to allow him the space to leave, and he disappeared inside the house without another word. 

“Thanks for coming,” Quentin told Alice. “Let me know what happens?”

Alice nodded with a tight smile and Quentin headed inside without even glancing at Eliot, though he heard his footsteps behind him as he made his way up the stairs to their bedroom. And fuck, wasn’t it shitty timing that he’d just moved in there permanently? 

Quentin stepped into the bedroom, slipping his shoes off and grabbing his pillow from the bed before turning to leave.

Eliot met him in the doorway, his expression conveying barely controlled calm until he glimpsed the pillow clutched in Quentin’s arm. The mask fell then, and Eliot’s eyes turned wounded. “Quentin?”

And it hurt so goddamn much, but he was too angry to make Eliot feel better. “I need time, El.”

Eliot’s shoulders fell. “Q… can’t we just--”

“Talk? No. You did all the fucking talking you wanted to down there and I didn’t get a say then, so why would I now?”

Eliot’s lip trembled and Quentin forced his eyes away. “Q, I’m sor--”

“No,” Quentin interrupted, unwilling to hear it. “You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. You need to think about that, and I need to calm down.” Glancing back up at Eliot and seeing the absolute terror in his eyes, Quentin sighed. “Eliot, I love you. Okay? I just need a few hours.”

Eliot nodded quickly, his features wavering but holding as he allowed Quentin to step around him to leave the room. He had to shut his eyes to steady himself when he heard the knock that sounded on Margo’s door a moment later, but he didn’t turn back.

There weren’t many people loitering in the common room, but enough that Quentin felt the need to keep up appearances. The last thing he needed was more gossip circulating about him. He walked to the window seat, scanning the titles on the shelves there before finding one of his battered paperback copies of  _ The World In the Walls.  _ He tucked himself into the corner to read, waiting for the downstairs to empty enough for him to move to a couch with his pillow. He felt so angry, so  _ unheard,  _ but he was also fucking exhausted. The FBI interview had been grueling; he hadn’t understood the point of so many of their questions, only able to assume they had something to do with testing him for any hidden spells. He’d answered question after question about the assault, forced himself to live in the memory of it for hours, willing to do so if only it would help, and all he’d wanted when it was over…

He’d just wanted Eliot. And now he was alone, holding within in hands the one thing that had saved him over and over again, the thing that had kept him alive. And it was a poor fucking substitute, and he  _ hated  _ that, hated that Jane, Martin, and Rupert couldn’t save him from this feeling. 

Unable to sit there any longer, Quentin tossed the book aside, grabbing one of the blankets that traveled around the common room, seemingly belonging to no one. Clutching it in his arms with his pillow, Quentin stepped outside onto the patio, which was blissfully empty. 

The night air held a chill, but the weather spells made sure it was a pleasant one, and the blanket was warm as he settled it over himself, folding his knees up to his chest. The pillow wasn’t really going to work in this scenario, so he tossed it into another chair before grabbing one of the Merits from the pack Eliot had forgotten on the table. He inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs, resting his head against the back of his chair to look up at the crescent moon and shadows of clouds that surrounded it. 

Seeing Joey’s chair still in the place where Eliot had forced it with his magic, Quentin shook his head tiredly. Quentin  _ knew,  _ even if Joey had been lying this whole time, there was no way he’d been working for Bayati willingly. He’d been hurt, too. No one could fake the pain he’d heard in the man’s voice as he’d confessed to the things he’d endured under the anchor spell the first night they’d met. Joey had put himself through those recollections to let Quentin know he wasn’t alone, that talking about it made it real, yes, but it also made it something that could be eventually laid to rest. And Eliot hadn’t been there for those stories; Quentin could understand his suspicions towards Joey. But Eliot also didn’t have any  _ right  _ to Joey’s pain just to calm his own need to control fucking  _ everything. _

Cigarette eventually spent, Quentin put it out against the glass of the ashtray and closed his eyes. He hated feeling this angry at Eliot, and he couldn’t stand the thought of Joey being forced out of Brakebills. He could only hope that things could be mended in the light of the day...

“Quentin.”

Feeling a moving pressure against his shoulder, Quentin opened his eyes, blinking in the darkness. When had the lanterns gone out? 

Looking in confusion over his shoulder, he saw Margo’s dark eyes staring down at him. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“You fell asleep out here, dumbass,” she told him. “C’mon, back inside.”

Quentin glanced around, shivering under the blanket. “God, what time is it?”

“After three. Hurry up, I don’t have shoes on.”

Quentin unfolded himself from the chair, wincing from the soreness in his legs and shoulders as he stood to follow Margo into the dimly lit house. “What are you doing up?” he asked quietly. 

“Well, I wasn’t checking on you, so don’t even think it,” she muttered, leading him towards the stairs. Quentin stopped, however, walking towards one of the sofas, and he heard her sigh. “Q, you can sleep in your room. El’s in my bed.”

He shook his head. “Not tonight. Thanks for the rescue, but I’m fine down here.” He didn’t look her way, not wanting her to pull the doe-eyed stare they were both infamous for as far as Eliot was concerned, and he eventually heard her return to the second floor.

Having forgotten his pillow, Quentin grabbed one of the fluffier decorative ones from the corner of the sofa and rested his head against it, using all the coping skills his father had paid thousands for him to learn to lull himself back to sleep before his worry could keep him awake until dawn.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	39. Not The Same As I Once Was

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“Not The Same As I Once Was”

_ Quentin _

The next morning, Quentin drifted between sleep and consciousness for some time before finally admitting to himself that he was just trying to avoid starting the day. He sat up and smoothed his hair down, looking around the empty common room. A Saturday morning, and not a single person was studying or practicing charms. Thinking of how many times Margo, or perhaps even Eliot, had probably hissed at people to clear out, he felt a twinge of embarrassment. 

Tossing the blanket towards the end of the sofa for someone else’s use at a later time, Quentin noticed the plate and mug on the table before him, and felt stupid that sight of the triangles of jam-covered toast and black coffee almost sent him into tears. He tested the temperature of the coffee, finding it still fairly warm and ate one of the slices of toast in three bites as he thought over what he should do first. 

He’d left his phone in the bedroom, so checking that was out for the moment. He supposed he could see if Joey was still upstairs, but judging by the slant of the pale light coming in through the windows, he doubted the man was even awake. 

Taking his plate and mug to the kitchen, Quentin wasn’t sure he was surprised to see Eliot’s familiar curls through the window that looked out onto the patio.  _ Guess I’m dealing with this first,  _ he thought, tossing his uneaten toast into the trash and placing the dishes on the counter to deal with later. 

Eliot turned when Quentin opened the door to step outside, and he felt a sharp stab of guilt when he saw the ruin of his hair and the dark circles under his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses. It was obvious he’d put no thought into his outfit for the day, dressed in one of the few pairs of jeans he owned and a plain button down. If he’d come across Eliot looking like this two months ago, he would have dragged him straight to the infirmary, and the realization only made him feel worse. Eliot’s life had changed so  _ much  _ because of him, and he wasn’t even sure if his boyfriend appreciated all that change. 

“‘Morning, Q,” Eliot greeted him quietly, a small, anxious smile on his lips. His fingers held an unlit cigarette, tapping the filter against the table.

“Hey.” Quentin took a seat across from him, gesturing for the pack on the table. “Care if I have one?”

“Of course not.” He lifted his own to light it, his eyes darting away nervously, making Quentin feel like guilty as he grabbed a cigarette for himself. He wondered if Eliot would always have that advantage over him. He knew it wasn’t something the man was doing on purpose. It was just so difficult to see him without his carefully constructed persona shielding him. Any time he removed it, Quentin felt personally responsible for the nakedness he was left to look at. He wanted to… cover him up, shield him somehow, and it was fucking frustrating when he was still upset with him at the same time. “Um, I checked your phone this morning; you had a text. Joey’s been with Fogg since before Alice woke up. She hasn’t said anything since, but I asked her to let me know.”

“Oh. I thought it was early.”

“It’s only seven.”

“Well, I guess they’re taking it seriously, then,” he said bitterly. “Um. Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

“Q, you do get that I just wanted to protect you, right?”

Quentin met Eliot’s eyes, full of that quiet desperation, and sighed. “I know that, El, of course I do. It’s just… you can’t seem to trust me to take care of myself.” Eliot gave him a stricken look, opening his mouth to protest, but Quentin wasn’t finished. “You couldn’t stop for one fucking second and listen to me. You just had to  _ handle  _ my life, and it’s… I love you, but it’s not yours to handle. There wasn’t anything to protect me  _ from.”  _ Quentin lit his cigarette and leaned back into his chair, exhaling the smoke. “I know Joey lied, but not about everything.”

“Quentin, how do you  _ know that?” _

“Because I  _ do!”  _ He closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “Eliot. There are things I’m never going to be able to tell you. Because you  _ can’t _ understand. I don’t want you to, ever. Joey, he understands those things. You can never convince me he’s not a victim in all this. He was trying to say something last night, he was  _ fighting  _ that spell and  _ hurting  _ himself, and all you could focus on was the threat to me. You didn’t care about anything else. This is bigger than me, and… you have to stop trying to separate me from it. I am part of this, no matter how much you hate it. It  _ happened  _ and you can’t protect me from it.” 

Eliot almost looked like he wanted to argue some part of that statement, his brow furrowing as his eyes turned glassy, but after a moment, he watched the man’s lips straighten into a thin line as he nodded.

Quentin took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. “...I want you  _ with  _ me, Eliot. Not in front of me. That’s not where I need you.” He blinked away tears, angered by them as Eliot met his eye. “I went through hell yesterday. And all I wanted was for you to hold me when I got here, and instead I had to deal with that? I don’t need a fucking bodyguard. I wanted my boyfriend. And instead, you completely ignored me to focus on a threat that wasn’t even fucking there.”

Quentin saw the tears in Eliot’s eyes too, not yet falling but there. “Fuck,” he uttered softly after a moment, staring into his own lap. “I… is there even a way for me to fix this? ‘Sorry’ kind of feels like bullshit.”

Quentin smiled sadly. “I don’t need an apology. I get why it happened. I just need you to try to trust me.”

Eliot’s eyes turned fierce for a moment, and he definitely wanted to argue, but it faded after a moment and he nodded. “I… I can do that.” His gaze turned hesitant, prepared for rejection. “But will you please come here now?”

Quentin tossed his cigarette, leaving his seat to let Eliot pull him down into his lap. He closed his eyes, breathing in the man’s scent, feeling the weight of Eliot’s arms around him. “I’m sorry,” he barely heard him whisper. “Even if it’s bullshit.”

“I am, too.”

“For what?”

Quentin smiled against his neck. “You look like shit, El.”

He felt Eliot’s chest move in silent laughter. “That is definitely your fault. Q, I’m sorry I wasn’t… I’m here now. Kiss me?”

Quentin raised his head, brushing his lips against Eliot’s, feeling the scrape of stubble against his chin, and Eliot’s fingers combing his hair back from his face. It was such a fucking relief to feel this after denying himself. He gently pulled Eliot’s lip between his own, tasting it with his tongue before releasing it, and suddenly he  _ needed. _ “Can we go upstairs?”

“You sure?” Eliot asked, but his hand was already moving over the ticklish place behind Quentin’s ear, causing a shiver to move through him. 

The back door opened and both of them turned to see Penny, who arched a disgusted brow. “Could be worse, I guess,” he sighed with a shake of his head as he approached. “Fogg sent me to get you.”

“Now? Could I at least get a shower--”

Penny grabbed him.

“--first?” Quentin finished, stumbling a bit as he blinked into existence in one of the hallways of the Metaphysics Center. He glared around, but Penny was already turning around the corner.  _ “Asshole.” _

“Agreed,” Eliot said dryly.

“Oh good, I didn’t think Penny was going to get you. He was pretty grumpy about it.” Quentin turned to see Julia approaching.

“Jules, what the fuck?” he asked.

She smiled as she looked them over. “Fogg woke me up hours ago, you don’t get to bitch. Some guys pretending they don’t spend most of their time in camo showed up this morning after Fogg called his FBI contact about Joey. But they’re going to go ahead and remove your anchors while they’re here.”

“Did they remove the other spells on him?” Eliot asked. 

Julia nodded. “Yeah, that’s what’s taken so long; he had to be interviewed again once they were removed. And they had to video conference Bayati in to do that,” she told them, a dark look in her eyes. “They should be removing the anchor now, but I can only hear what’s happening from Fogg’s office.”

“Is he okay?” Quentin asked.

Julia looked uneasy. “I don’t know, Q. We’re not allowed in there because of all the red tape. They’ve got an audio feed, but they shut it off whenever they want. They kept it on for the interview. Fogg wanted me to cross-reference the earlier transcripts and take note of the changes in Joey’s story.”

“How bad was it?” 

Julia’s gaze was sympathetic but direct. “There’s three new leads, and two more victims they’re going to track down. It could have been worse, but…”

“Yeah, it’s kind of hard to measure ‘worse’ at this point,” Eliot sighed. 

The double doors down the hall swung open and Quentin watched as Joey emerged. He looked pale and tired as he approached, his eyes darting anxiously between the three of them. “They’re ready for you,” he said, briefly meeting Quentin’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Joey smiled crookedly, just a slight quirk of his lips before it disappeared. “We can talk about it later. If you want. I’m not getting kicked out.”

Quentin nodded. “Okay.”

Joey tilted his chin towards Eliot in acknowledgment before turning to disappear around the corner, and Quentin walked towards the open doors of the lab with Eliot at his side. 

*

_ Eliot _

It was difficult for Eliot to maintain an appearance of calm as he stepped into the lab room. The familiar tables had been moved to the edges of the room, all of them draped with opaque plastic that concealed whatever was hidden beneath. Several older men stood near the blackboard, their formal stances and haircuts indicating they were military, or perhaps something even more alarming. There was a tall woman standing among them, her graying hair pulled back into a severe bun, and she was the only one that looked their way as they entered the room. “Gibson, the doors,” she spoke, and Eliot glanced to see a man in a simple black suit move to close the doors and ward them. 

“Mr. Coldwater, Mr. Waugh,” she greeted them. “I’m here to remove the spell placed by Mr. Davidson,” she explained, looking at Quentin.

Then, her eyes turned towards Eliot. “In the case of your counter anchor, however, it was decided it would be more… comfortable for Mr. Coldwater if you removed it yourself. This will require total cooperation from both of you, and no questions asked. If you cannot agree to that, I can certainly remove it myself.”

“What do I need to do?” Eliot asked.

“I have written out the instructions you will follow to remove the spell; it’s been modified specifically for you based on the information I was given. No part of it is confidential. The components used, however, are. Once ready, you will both be magically blinded to prevent you from being exposed to sensitive information. I will tell you to begin once the components are placed. I had to assume you actually know your Hebrew, since you used it in the original spell.”

“I can handle myself,” he replied, trying not to show his unease. 

“Excellent. Once you have removed the anchor, Gibson will lead you out and restore your vision. Then, you are free to do as you like while we remove Davidson’s anchor from Mr. Coldwater. Do you agree to this?”

Eliot nodded slowly. “I don’t really see an alternative.”

“What he said,” Quentin spoke when she looked towards him.

The woman walked to one of the tables and removed a file folder from under the plastic sheeting, handing it to Eliot. He opened it, looking over the neatly scripted spell. It had been written for simplicity; there wasn’t a single part of it he hadn’t used at some point in other spells.

But when Eliot saw the Hebrew word that would release Quentin from his command, his lip curled in disgust. It was pronounced  _ makhur.  _

Sold.

Knowing there was nothing he could do regarding what the word implied about any of the possibly sordid history of this spell, Eliot breathed in slowly, committing the page to memory by the number order of the Poppers and the personal nicknames he and Margo used for other tuts they’d learned over the years.  _ Thirty. Four. Left up. Magpie. Sixteen. Shoelace. Hula Hoop. Seven. Flat out.  _ The rest of the Hebrew he didn’t need to memorize, as it was only a slight variation of the original Julia had written with Mayakovsky.

Eliot mentally repeated the ridiculous list in his head three times before returning to the folder to the woman. “I’m ready.”

“Okay, then. Mr. Coldwater, three steps back, please, and remove your shirt.” Quentin’s eyes widened momentarily, but he pulled the shirt over his head and she took it from his hand, walking over to rest it on the only bare surface in the room, which was the professor’s desk. “Mr. Waugh, please position yourself behind Mr. Coldwater, close enough to place your hands where you installed the anchor. Give yourself enough room to perform the spell, though.”

Eliot moved behind Quentin, brushing his hair forward to reveal the small scar below his neck. 

“We’ll begin.” The woman lifted her hands, and Eliot watched as they moved to cast, heard her whisper something that sounded vaguely Slavic.

The world around him faded into a gray blur, and he heard Quentin inhale sharply at the loss of vision.

Around him, Eliot heard movement. Footsteps. The sound of the plastic sheeting being removed from the tables. The clatter of pottery against the floor. Moments later, a pungent scent filled his nose, like tobacco but more exotic, more pungent. There were soft, shifting sounds he couldn’t place for several minutes, and he repeated the tuts in his head again to distract himself and keep them committed to memory, his fingers twitching from muscle memory. 

“Mr. Waugh, you’re free to begin.”

Taking a steadying breath, Eliot lifted his hands, beginning the incantation as he moved through the tuts with ease, all of them known and familiar to him. Ending with fingers interlocked and palms facing Quentin, he transitioned to Popper No. 30 again, because the spell required three repetitions. He forced himself to go slowly, because even the simplest tut could easily be done wrong, and that wasn’t a risk he could take at the moment. No one had explained what would happen if he fucked this up, which usually meant only bad things. 

Ending the third repetition, Eliot found the tiny scar on Quentin’s flesh by touch and framed it between his hands, reluctantly reciting the word that would break his command, again three times. His blind eyes widened at the warmth that immediately emanated from Quentin’s skin against his palms.

And then, Eliot was alone. 

Not physically, just…

_ I can’t feel him,  _ he realized. He’d had no idea he’d grown so used to the silent knowledge of Quentin’s presence so quickly, and now it was gone.

The spell had worked.

“Mr. Coldwater, if you’ll face the other way, please. I’m just going to confirm the spell has been removed.”

Eliot heard Quentin move near him, saw a vague shadow as the light shifted. “Excellent. Gibson, please escort Mr. Waugh out.” 

He felt a light touch on his arm and Eliot let himself be turned and led across the floor, away from Quentin and into the cooler air of the hall. After a quickly muttered word from the man, the world became clear again and he felt vaguely nauseated as his eyes worked to focus. He heard the doors shut behind him and moved to take a seat on a nearby bench to wait, trying not to focus on the fact that Quentin could be a world away, because he could no longer reach out and  _ know.  _

Twenty minutes passed before the doors opened again, and Eliot watched as Quentin stepped out, eyes focused and alert, but his face pale and eyes rimmed with red. “What happened?” he asked, standing to take his arm.

“So, apparently if the original caster isn’t the one to remove the spell, it’s incredibly fucking painful,” he complained as they started the walk to the front entrance. 

“Does it still hurt?”

“No, it was only for a couple of seconds, but it felt like… I don’t know. Like how I imagine being branded would feel, but backwards?” His mouth was a grim line. “No one else can fuck with my head but me now, though, so I guess it was worth it.”

Eliot chuckled wearily as he held the door open for Quentin to walk outside. “Oh, I fully intend to still fuck with your head, Q,” he teased as they joined hands to return home, committed to replacing the drawn line of Quentin’s mouth with a smile. “I have other ways of making you come to me, you know.” He looked down at his boyfriend with a playful grin.  _ “ _ And  _ for  _ me. All  _ over--” _

“Christ, El,  _ stop,”  _ Quentin laughed. 

Mission accomplished.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	40. Every Bond You Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags, please. :)

_ Eliot _

When they returned to the cottage, Joey was waiting for them in the common room. Eliot ignored the few confused and curious glances he immediately received over the glasses he was still wearing, right in front of God and everyone (and he couldn’t even allow himself to think of his hair), forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand.

“You want to hear this?” Joey asked Quentin as he stood from the sofa, his expression weary but in no way unwilling.

“I’d like to, yeah,” Quentin replied.

Joey nodded, meeting Eliot’s eye in silent invitation before turning to walk towards the back door. Eliot followed behind Quentin, pondering all the ways he was going to curse Penny for forcing him to leave the cottage without his goddamn contacts in, even though his own insecurities seemed shallow at the moment. Still, he had the ashes of his reputation left, and he could just smell the last dying embers of them as he shuffled along behind Quentin without any of his armor, could feel the weight of eyes on him, making him want to squirm. He held his chin high as always, however, and greedily lit a cigarette once they were seated around the patio table outside. He watched as Joey did the same, taking several long draws as he stared blankly down at the table.

When he did lift his gaze, Eliot was surprised to find it focused on him instead of Quentin. “I was never sent here for Q,” he spoke, knocking his knuckles gently on the table. “I want to get that out up front. Because everything else I’m about to say would have you doing a lot worse than shoving me if I didn’t. It was never about him.”

“Okay,” Eliot allowed.

Joey focused on the table again as he continued. “So, Adhira’s network.” He shook his head. “Bayati, sorry; Adhira’s her first name. There’s a buy-in to participate. You bring her someone. If she likes them, you’re in, and she keeps who you bring her.” An unamused chuckle escaped his lips. “Kind of like her own personal harem,” he explained with a cynical smirk. “Not that we didn’t get bought and sold, but definitely not as often. She liked to keep one or two around for personal use. So yeah, I spent some time in her condo, her vacation properties, shit like that. She only loaned us out to friends and for networking, really.”

“So… someone  _ gave  _ you to her?” Quentin asked, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” Joey replied with an uncomfortable look in his eyes, like he wanted to squirm under the table. “Mark did. He’s my uncle, Quentin.”

Eliot inhaled sharply as Quentin’s lips parted in silent shock. “Wait,” Eliot spoke, pressing his hand to the table. “He’s your uncle and he  _ sold  _ you to this woman?”

Joey nodded, exhaling smoke. “Yeah. We weren’t what you’d call close. My mom got pregnant with me in high school, but my grandparents kept me while she went to college and after she was accepted here. I grew up with Mark because he was a lot younger than her. Kind of my grandparents’ way of saying ‘well, we fucked up the first one,’ you know?”

Eliot gave him a tight smile. “Unfortunately, no. My parents wish they’d stopped at two. I  _ am  _ the fuck up.” He glanced warmly at Quentin when he felt his hand on his knee, squeezing gently in a silent protest of the statement. “But anyway.”

“So, my mom flunked out of Brakebills, and got into a lot of trouble after that. My grandparents tried to take care of things, and lost a lot of money and connections doing it. When my parents wouldn’t teach her magic again, she found hedges who would. She got mixed into some shit and pissed off the wrong people; I don’t really know the specifics, I was a kid. Just that my grandparents lost everything, and my mom’s hospitalized up in Maine. She fried her brain with some spell. We went from a high rise on the Upper East Side to Deer Park. Mark had to switch schools his senior year. I think it was his senior year, anyway, he had a car at that point?” Joey smiled, a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Q’s used to it,” Eliot confessed. “Some of us only have a way with words when they don’t mean anything.”

“Preach,” Joey laughed. “Anyway, Mark hated me after that. Somehow it was my fault he couldn’t  _ have _ things anymore. His college fund got emptied out just to keep us off the street, and he had to go to community college instead of NYU. The only car he could afford only worked half the time. My grandparents wouldn’t teach him magic because of my mom, so he couldn’t even learn spells to get his own money; they said it was too dangerous. He made my life a living hell, so I stayed out of the house most of the time.” He looked at Quentin with a soft grin. “And the peppermints story was true. And once I knew I could do magic, that’s all I  _ wanted _ to do. It was the only thing that didn’t make me miserable, aside from pot.”

He sighed loudly. “So, jump forward a couple of years and Mark tracks me down and says he wants to ‘make amends,’ that he learned a lot about himself as a person at Brakebills.” Joey waved his cigarette a little. “He dosed my drink at his apartment and I woke up in Adhira’s condo.”

“Jesus Christ,” Quentin muttered, drawing his legs up into his chair. 

Joey shrugged. “I spent about four or five months with her before she let me out on my own. By that time, I’d been reported missing. Mark told my grandparents he’d seen me with drugs, shit like that. Everyone was  _ concerned,”  _ he said with a soft flare of his brown eyes. “I figured out pretty quick that I couldn’t tell anyone shit, and I had nowhere to go but the safe house because they didn’t ask a lot of questions. I tried getting back together with my band, but it was only a week before she made me come back, so that didn’t last. It was easier at that point to just disappear.

“After the first year, she started loaning me out, letting me meet other victims for parties. She called it ‘making friends.’ And then, she’d send me to them when they weren’t under any command, make me report back on if the spells on them were holding, if their ‘handlers’ were being careful, all that. I did try to help them. I didn’t lie about that.” His gaze fell on Eliot, and it was only sheer force of will that kept him from turning away in shame. 

“And when Mark went after you,” he said to Quentin, releasing Eliot from his stare, “she sent me here to try to take the heat off her, to shift the blame. And to let her know what I could about the investigation. So, everything I was able to say about him was true, except that he raped me. I had to lie about that to get in here. I just couldn’t involve her in anything I said without activating the spell. And I know I should have, in the Clean room, but fuck, I was just so…” His lip trembled, and Eliot did have to look away, because he knew how it felt to slip like that, how much it hurt to be seen. Less eyes helped. “Um. Once they caught her, I kept waiting for it to go away? But it didn’t. And last night, I guess I just got tired of it. After sitting there all fucking day with that cop and not being able to say one fucking helpful thing. And you were so angry on everyone’s behalf, and... “ He wet his lips. “It just shouldn’t be me, with the therapy shit. I know some of them, yeah, but it was because I was spying on them. Like Eliot said.”

“Joey, you didn’t have a choice,” Quentin reminded him.

Joey rolled his eyes. “There’s always a choice,” he said bitterly, his eyes fixed on the table again.

Too familiar with the haunted look in the man’s eye, Eliot shook his head. “As choices go, that particular one is kind of shit.”

“Yeah, you live through three years of that and tell me it wouldn’t cross your mind,” Joey said roughly, his eyes shadowed. 

Eliot conceded with a nod. “Fair point.”

“And you can get jealous all you want. I didn’t meant to cozy up to Quentin, but other than all the obvious mushy shit I could say now, he’s kind of hot as fuck, so.” He shrugged, unrepentant. His eyes were bloodshot, but it was obvious he was slipping back into his own armor.

Eliot chuckled. “Tell him that all you’d like; he needs practice in accepting compliments.”

“He’s also a really good listener,” Joey said, more seriously this time as he gazed at a blushing Quentin. “Which is why I still think you should run the group.”

Quentin squirmed in his chair. “That’s not me. I… I’ll help you all I can, but I don’t see anyone holding this against you, you know?”

Joey’s lips twisted thoughtfully. “Maybe. I don’t want anyone to decide they’re not going to get help if I’m there; if someone wants me out, I’m out.” He sighed again. “Besides, today was just the first round for me. I was with Bayati for three years. I see a lot of shitty coffee and stupid fucking questions in my future.” He met Quentin’s eye again, a hint of terror badly hidden in their depths. “I hate it, Q, but I have to put that first. Because if they don’t get enough to put her away forever, I’m dead.”

Quentin nodded and Eliot practically melted at the open sincerity in his boyfriend’s gaze. How did he  _ do  _ that? No wonder Joey wanted to fuck him. “Of course. I’ll help you with the group, I’ll do everything I can. I just can’t… run it. I’m not good at talking to people. Public speaking was the only class I ever got a C in.”

Joey snickered at that and Eliot smiled. “Okay, well I’ll get with you on the plans I’ve got so far tomorrow. Right now, I’m gonna go pass out. Possibly until tomorrow.” He looked to Eliot as he stood from his chair. “We good?”

Eliot dipped his chin in a nod. “I should... probably apologize, I guess.”

Joey shook his head, flapping a hand towards him. “No, we’re straight.” Off Eliot’s affronted look, he snorted. “Fuck off, you know what I mean.” He looked over his shoulder towards Quentin. “See you.”

With Joey gone, Eliot looked to Quentin. “I know you don’t want to,” he said, “but you  _ could  _ run the group, if he gets too caught up in the investigation. You  _ are  _ brave. I know you don’t believe that, but…”

Watching Quentin shift in his seat, a curiously guilty look in his eyes, Eliot studied him appraisingly. “Q?” He watched his boyfriend’s adorable mouth quirk before his lips pressed together, trying to bite back a smile. “Quentin, are you hiding something from me?” The man shot him a snared look and Eliot grinned, leaning forward in his seat. “You will tell me  _ right _ now.”

Quentin sighed, looking away for a moment. “Julia… we had this spell we had to do, and… she pulled my circumstances because we weren’t getting anywhere.” He smirked reluctantly at Eliot. “I didn’t want you to know you were right about something.”

“So, you’ve been holding out just to spite me?” He grinned. “Sounds like you. I demand to know everything.”

Quentin blew out a heavy burst of air, looking embarrassed as he slumped in his seat. “Well, I don’t remember them all, but you can see the list when we go inside. But courageous was on there, yeah. Melancholic, of course. Impudent,” he added.

Eliot snickered. “Oh, you mean bratty? Gasp.”

Quentin threw a glare his way. “And anxious definitely made the list, so… I’ll try to help Joey. I just don’t know.”

“You could stick to more a behind the scenes role until you’re more comfortable,” he suggested. 

“Probably, yeah.” Quentin chewed at his lip thoughtfully before meeting Eliot’s eyes again. “I’ll think about it. But I’d really rather go have make up sex now.”

Eliot was on board with that. One hundred percent.  _ “That  _ sounds like a plan. You sure you’re not too sore, still?”

Quentin stood from his chair, and Eliot was shocked by the predatory glance his boyfriend gave him as he walked towards the door. “My dick isn’t,” he quipped, disappearing inside the house.

Eliot’s mouth fell open as he looked towards the open door, Quentin’s implication (and  _ audacity)  _ very clear. “Well. Fucking  _ okay then,”  _ Eliot laughed, scrambling out of his chair to follow.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	41. The Feeling You Bring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed a tag, and today's chapter is longer!

_ The following Saturday. _

_ Margo _

Despite her reluctance, it only took Margo a full week to adopt Joey Gardner. 

After another stressful battle magic assignment had been endured, a party had come together on its own earlier that night, with Eliot offering a selection of magical cocktails to lift everyone’s mood. He’d refused to depend on the emotion bottle for their newly assigned spells that week, so he wasn’t quite as desperate to lose himself as he’d been on the night of the infamous cupcake. Margo had barely used her own, either. After mastering the first few, it was getting somewhat easier to cast the magic, though she’d never admit she’d started waking earlier in the mornings to meditate. She wasn’t a fucking Psychic student. 

She was keeping Eliot company near the bar when Josh approached, all smiles. “What is up, you two beautiful people?” he greeted them, placing his hands on the surface of the table. 

“Dicks and spirits, if I’m doing my job right,” Eliot quipped, causing Margo to roll her eyes with a smile. 

“I have two questions,” Josh continued, looking to Eliot, who arched an expectant brow. “The orange drink. Todd said it was like an hour-long cold chill, except kind of sexy?” Eliot nodded with a small grin. “So… what do you think it would do when paired with my unicorn edible?”

Eliot narrowed his eyes, holding up a finger. “The hug one or the blowjob one?”

“Oh, the hug one, definitely. I don’t think the other one would be suitable for anything downstairs. Not for another couple of hours, anyway.”

Eliot chuckled, looking thoughtful. “I think the combination could lead to some very enthusiastic making out, at the very least. Want me to mix you one?”

“Sounds good. My other question, though,” he said as Eliot pulled the vodka from a shelf. “My birthday’s coming up in a few weeks.”

Eliot winced. “Shit. I want to help, but it’s cutting it kind of close to finals? And that extra course I take is demanding enough on top of the battle magic,” he explained, pouring the alcohol into his cocktail shaker, measuring with a careful eye. “I mean, I’m willing to try; I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it’s not as epic as my usual.”

“Well, I was actually going to ask if you’d mind pairing up with Todd for it?” Margo watched Eliot’s expression fall flat with surprise, but still short of offended as his hands continued to mix the drink. “He’s a good friend and we have a lot in common, but he can’t hold a candle to your cocktails. That’s really all I’d be asking you to do; Todd can handle the standard spells. Lights, filters, all that. And the music.” He grinned. “Also, costume party. Gotta be. It’s my last year at Brakebills, I wanna go out a legend.”

Margo watched Eliot consider as he shook the contents of the drink together, wondering what his answer would be. Dating Quentin had caused the man’s air of superiority to fade quite a bit, but she wasn’t sure he was ready to stand as an equal with Todd when it came to his title. 

“Will there be a theme?” he asked, his expression still blank.

“Well, for the costumes I was thinking just fictional characters? Easy enough. I wanted to go full sci-fi with it, but I think that might be too rigid.”

“Okay. Fiction, then. I’ll put together a menu and get back with you. Monday?”

Josh beamed at him. “Totally! Thanks, man!”

Eliot nodded, handing off the beverage and sliding the cocktail shaker aside, vaguely looking like he’d just witnessed a train wreck as Josh left them alone again.

“Well, can I officially say Quentin Coldwater has ruined you?” she teased.

Eliot smiled crookedly. “In so many ways,” he mused quietly. “But it is Hoberman’s last year; I’d be a dick if I said no.”

“I’m not arguing,” she replied, sipping at her champagne. She’d been a little too enthusiastic with the cocktails when the party had first started and was trying to pace herself now, taking a moment to rest with her best friend before finding a dance partner again. She was thinking of going upstairs to change her shoes first, though; her new pair of Valentinos were rubbing the heel of her right foot raw. Lifting her foot a bit to relieve the pressure, Margo immediately lost her balance, however, stumbling to the side. 

“Shit!” she heard just as she was caught by the hip and shoulder and lifted back onto her feet. The hands remained as Margo looked to see Joey at her shoulder. 

An eddy of emotions flooded Margo’s thoughts as she met his eye with quiet astonishment. Because the touch was familiar to her, something she’d missed terribly but hadn’t been able to specify. It wasn’t hesitant or insecure. Margo was so used to men touching her like they weren’t allowed, even when they were inside her, like they couldn’t appreciate her fierceness without it being a threat to their fragile fucking masculinity. She knew she could be intimidating, but it grew old. 

But Joey was touching her like he had the goddamn right, his hands sure and firm as he began to smile down at her. 

He touched her like Eliot. 

“Little tipsy?” he asked.

“Maybe a lot,” she replied, hoping she didn’t sound as disconcerted as she felt. She held herself still as his hand fell from her hip, but the other smoothed down her dress before falling away, taking care to leave her as he’d found her. Margo found she couldn’t look at Eliot as Joey asked for an Old Fashioned, too afraid he’d see something in her eyes and question it. She needed an answer before that could happen, because Margo Hanson didn’t get  _ flustered _ .

She turned her back to the bar to finish her champagne and just… take a fucking second, but growled under her breath when she saw Scott Walters approaching. It was a distraction, she supposed, but not a welcome one. 

“Ballsack at two o’clock,” she warned Eliot, who barely glanced in that direction as he measured out the sugar for Joey’s drink. Margo straightened as Joey slid closer to her to give Scott room at the counter. 

“Hey, Eliot,” Scott greeted him, not sparing any attention for Joey or Margo at all. “Saw that hut thing or whatever you’re working on with Sunderland yesterday. Have you cast that whole thing together?”

Eliot tipped Scott a dubious little glare as he poured bourbon into a rocks glass. “Do we discuss my coursework now?” 

Margo watched as Scott’s broad shoulders fell. “Eliot, look. I didn’t know about Coldwater when I said--”

“Not open for discussion,” Eliot cut him off, choosing a spoon from the jar that rested on the bar and stirring the cocktail. “I can make you a drink and you can walk away, or you can just walk away.”

Margo smirked as Scott chose the second option, retreating back to his friends near the library. 

“So, we hate that guy?” Joey asked, smiling in thanks when Eliot handed over his drink. 

“Hate would indicate we ever cared in the first place,” Eliot replied coolly, brushing some stray sugar from the table and into his hand before flicking his wrist and willing it out of existence. 

“What’d he say about Quentin?”

Margo watched Eliot consider how much to divulge before he sighed, leaving Margo to wonder how full their private circle had already grown without her knowledge or permission. “He called Q an ‘emo little shit’ and predicted he would mutilate himself when I supposedly grew bored and dumped him.”

Joey’s eyes widened momentarily as he swallowed his bourbon. “Okay, I’m boarding the hate train,” he laughed mirthlessly, eyes narrowing a moment later. “Where  _ is  _ Q, anyway?”

Margo rolled her eyes. “Right over in the window with Alice, last I saw. They’re nerding out over something.” Joey leaned back, trying to see around the people standing between the bar and the window, but he gave up after a moment. 

“And how do you know that?” Eliot asked.

“You can always tell; there’s so much damn hand gesturing.” He grinned, appearing to agree with her assessment. “Anyway, you’re still pretty new here,” she told Joey. “Don’t expect to see much of Q at these things unless he’s tucked into a corner. It’s not his style.”

“Yes, unfortunately I fell for the one man who refuses to dance with me,” Eliot laughed, returning the vodka to its place on the shelf. 

But Joey just looked at Eliot in confusion. “Why don’t you just make him?” he asked.

Eliot turned, a surprised glint in his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Joey shrugged. “I mean, you got pretty close the night we ate those edibles, but you let him off the hook.”

Eliot’s amused expression remained, but there was an obvious disquiet growing behind it. “Well, I’m not really into forcing my boyfriend to be uncomfortable for me, I guess?”

Joey chuckled. “Oh, are we pretending there’s a single thing he wouldn’t do if you ordered him to?”

Margo pressed her lips together as Eliot’s mouth fell open.  _ Boy’s brazen,  _ she laughed inwardly. 

“You’re… making a rather heavy assumption,” Eliot said slowly, but he didn’t seem angered at all, just unsteady. 

“Please. I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of Q next to ‘submissive’ in the dictionary.” 

Margo had to look away as Eliot blushed, laughter trying to bubble up from her stomach. 

“That… may be  _ partially  _ true,” her best friend finally conceded. “But that doesn’t mean I’m the type to announce it to the entire house.”

Margo couldn’t keep her mouth shut anymore. “El, really? You don’t always remember to ward your room, you know. The whole fucking house knows that Q getting fucked involves a  _ lot  _ of begging on his part.” Joey’s eyes danced wickedly as he nodded in agreement. “The announcement has been made. Repeatedly.”

Eliot looked between the two of them, eyes wide with astonishment. “You’re both cut the fuck off,” he said evenly.

Joey snickered, bumping his shoulder against Margo’s as he finished his drink and set the glass aside. “You’re about an hour late on that,” he informed Eliot before twirling away from the bar. 

“You’re supposed to be on  _ my  _ side in these things, you know,” Eliot informed her, removing the glass from the bar.

“But you’re so fun to tease,” she purred, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “And it’s not like I’m given the opportunity very often.”

“I suppose,” he allowed, lifting his own drink to drain half of it. Margo watched his eyes widen over the glass before he lowered it. “Oh, shit.”

Margo turned, following Eliot’s gaze to the suddenly visible window seat, and she laughed as she watched Joey approaching Quentin. “Don’t worry, El. I doubt he’ll handle Q as roughly as he did you.”

“He better not handle him at all,” Eliot chuckled, though he looked intrigued by the possibility anyway. 

Together, they watched Joey take Quentin’s drink from his hand, finishing it and setting the glass on the inlaid shelf before trying to tug the man up from his seat. Margo smirked as Quentin resisted, then began to blush over whatever Joey was saying to try to convince him to stand, his eyes darting towards the bar, clearly asking for help. Neither Margo or Eliot felt moved to intervene, however, and when Quentin did finally stand, he left Joey behind to march towards them with a scolding expression. “You two can complain about my lack of social skills all you want; I’m not dancing,” he announced. 

“We never said anything to the contrary,” Eliot assured him, already pouring another glass of bourbon without Quentin asking for it. “Joey was under the assumption you could be convinced.”

“Well, now he’s been informed you’re spoiled and get everything  _ else _ you want,” he replied, taking the offered glass.

“Quentin, you wound me,” Eliot sighed, but he smiled when Quentin shot him an exasperated glare over the rim of the glass.

Margo rolled her eyes, turning to see Joey had taken Quentin’s vacated seat, now talking to Alice. She was gesturing excitedly again, and while Joey was nodding and smiling, he looked a little overwhelmed. Making sure she was steady on her heels, Margo left her champagne to walk over and kick at his shoe to draw his attention.

“You’re dancing with me,” she informed him, giving Alice a glance of acknowledgment as she held out her hand.

Joey took it, shooting an Alice a good-bye smile before letting himself be drawn up to his feet, and Margo inwardly thrilled when he took over from there, leading her away from the window, those sure hands of his finding her hips as he found a place for them between the other people on the floor. “So, what did you say to Q?” she asked as they began to move to music. 

Joey grinned. “I tried a few things,” he admitted. “He wasn’t having any of it, though.”

“Well, he  _ does  _ let El have his way most of the time. He’d probably be upstairs right now if he had any say in it.”

“Oh, he doesn’t?”

“With Eliot’s pouting skills? Hardly.”

Joey chuckled and then smirked as the song changed into something far friskier than they’d started with. Margo was grateful when he didn’t ask her permission before he began to move against her in a far more suggestive manner. She linked her arms around his neck as he pulled her close, but he only let her remain that way for a moment before she was turned in his arms, gasping slightly as he settled her back against his chest. 

“Bossy,” she laughed.

His chest rumbled with laughter against her back. “You have no idea.”

Margo grasped his hands on her hips, lightly digging her nails in. “Please. I’d eat you alive, Gardner.”

Her eyes widened when she felt his breath at her ear a beat later. “Promise?”

She turned her head to look up at him, finding eyes nearly as dark as her own, and full of intent. “Where is this coming from?”

His teeth pressed into his full bottom lip. “I’m drunk as fuck,” he admitted. “You’re hot. That’s all I’ve got, really. Feel free to tell me to fuck off, though.”

“Oh, I would,” she assured him, looking away. Her gaze fell on Eliot and Margo went still for a moment as their eyes met. He only looked mildly surprised, and more than a little curious, but Margo felt a wave of shame wash through her. No one in this world or any other could replace Eliot for her, but she somehow felt like she was  _ trying to.  _

Seeming to sense something was not quite right with her, Eliot’s gaze turned a bit concerned. She shook her head, letting him know she was fine, made a face to indicate she was drunk. He grinned, his eyes darting to Joey for a moment before he mouthed “details?” with a wicked smirk. 

And just like that, everything was fine. Margo nearly sank into Joey with relief, giving Eliot a “who me?” look that made him laugh. She turned herself in Joey’s arms, her brow arched. “You’re sure about this?”

Joey glanced towards Eliot over her shoulder. “It’s not gonna cause an issue, is it?” 

“You leave Eliot to me,” she replied, not sure what he’d read from their exchange. “He’s got Q.”

“Just checking,” he said lightly. “Sometimes it kind of seems like he has you, too. I’m still learning my way around.”

Margo found his concern sweet, an arousing contrast to how his fingers were slowly dragging across the small of her back over her dress. “Eliot’s my person. We’re perfect, and a night with you isn’t gonna change that.” And it felt good to say it and feel the truth behind the words. She’d found someone unafraid of her, someone who could  _ possibly  _ hold his own if she took him to her bed. While it made him a rare jewel, it in no way made him a substitute for her best friend. 

Joey smiled down at her. “And what if I want another night?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warned. “Now that your feelings are handled, are you gonna take me upstairs?”

He grinned, his dark eyes full of heat. “Gladly.”

*

_ Quentin _

Quentin was still at the bar when he noticed Margo and Joey disappearing together upstairs, and he frowned a little, drawing Eliot’s attention.

“What was that look for?” his boyfriend asked. 

“Just trying to figure out who I’m more scared for,” he replied.

Eliot chuckled, looking almost offended on Margo’s behalf. “Right, like there’s any question there.”

“Um, Joey’s worse than you when it comes to gossiping about who he’s fucked. I know things you don’t.” God, did he, and he could really only imagine Joey and Margo clawing at each other for dominance like two feral cats. Joey claimed to be a switch, but when it came to women, he demanded full control. He’d never had to tell Quentin that it was due to his issues regarding Bayati, from being under her spells for years. But Margo… Quentin shook his head. Not his business.

Eliot raised a curious brow at that, but didn’t ask him to elaborate. “Well. Margo can be flexible when she wants to be. And if she doesn’t, she’ll make him cry and he’ll love it anyway.” Quentin conceded his point with a quick nod, obviously doubtful, before lighting a cigarette. 

“So, how much longer are we stuck down here?” he asked.

Eliot rolled his eyes lovingly. “‘Stuck,’ he says. I can abandon ship whenever you’re ready.” He blinked, looking suddenly anxious. “I, uh, might have agreed to help host Josh’s birthday party, though.”

Quentin inhaled slowly, trying to keep his calm as he rolled his lip through his teeth. He’d expressed his concerns to Eliot a few days prior when Eliot had chosen to study instead of sleeping at all the night before his class with Sunderland. “And when is that?”

“A few weeks out; I don’t remember the date exactly. But it’s not full hosting, I promise. Just drinks.”

Seeing the timid wrinkle of Eliot’s brow, Quentin sighed. “El, you can make your own decisions, I’m just.. You’re spreading yourself a little thin, aren’t you?”

Eliot tilted his head, considering, so Quentin reminded him. “I mean, you’ve got finals. Sunderland, which you won’t even talk about, but don’t think you’re some big mystery. You’re nervous.” Eliot’s eyes dipped towards the bar. “Battle magic, which I caught you also  _ teaching _ the other night.”

“The first years should know it,” Eliot argued. “I thought we agreed on that?”

“Not before you take the time to learn it yourself,” Quentin argued, but gently. “And I know Hoberman; this is going to be an ‘event,’ I’m sure.”

Eliot’s mouth twisted. “Q, I can cancel on him.”

Seeing the rueful expression on his face, Quentin reached for his hand. “El, I’m not mad. Just... starting to worry. Don’t cancel on Josh. Just maybe take a second to breathe at some point?”

His boyfriend nodded. “I’ll try harder, promise. Let me clean up and we can go upstairs?”

Quentin nodded, finishing his bourbon as Eliot took a moment to run everything he’d used that night to the kitchen for someone else to deal with in the morning. He returned to the bar, giving it a once over before pocketing his cigarettes within his vest and reaching his hand out for Quentin, who smiled and let himself be led to their bedroom. 

Inside, Quentin shrugged off his shirt, hanging it in the armoire that had mysteriously appeared in Eliot’s room days ago, looking like something lifted in a museum heist. The scrollwork carved into the surface of the wood made him feel faintly nauseated when he thought of how much it must have cost. It also loomed in the room, throwing the rest of the furniture off balance. Eliot and Margo both refused to answer any questions regarding the hulking piece of mahogany, which also made him nervous, because that meant there was a high chance it hadn’t cost anything at all. He wondered if there was a suspiciously bare spot in the bedroom of some faraway French manor. 

Quentin left the rest of his clothes in the bathroom hamper as Eliot hung his own to be cleaned when he found the time, but both men stilled when they heard a very clear moan sound from beyond the bedroom door, their eyes meeting from across the room. 

“Well, that wasn’t Bambi,” Eliot mused. 

“Nope.” Quentin was smiling as he crawled into bed, lighting a cigarette. 

Eliot soon joined him and they both snickered as another cry echoed through the hall before Eliot quickly threw up a silencing ward to cancel out the noise. “Enough of that. At least next time she gives me shit, I can return fire.”

“What did she give you shit about?”

Eliot smirked. “Apparently your… enthusiasm for certain parts of my anatomy has not always fallen on deaf ears,” he hedged, plucking the cigarette from Quentin’s fingers to steal a draw. 

Quentin felt his face heating under his boyfriend’s not quite apologetic stare. “Oh.”

“Yes.” He gave the cigarette back. “And I’d love to bask in that enthusiasm again tonight, but I should probably study.”

“Okay,” Quentin agreed. “Can I read on you?”

Eliot grinned as he reached for one of the textbooks that held up residence on his nightstand lately. “Of course.”

Quentin settled under Eliot’s arm as he browsed his phone for something to read while Eliot found his place in the thick textbook. He soon grew bored, however, and started stealing glances at Eliot’s book, his curiosity growing the more he read. The list of spells on the page, required for whatever Eliot was studying was mildly disturbing. Air filtering spells, protective shields, pyromancy spells he’d never heard of…

“El, I thought you were building a hut,” he finally spoke, unable to rein in his confusion. 

“Hm? Oh.” Eliot gave him a reproachful look, though he was smiling. “Nosy.”

“The book I bought sucked. What are all those spells for?”

Eliot sighed. “To make glass. From raw material.”

Quentin blinked up at him. “You can do that?”

“That remains to be seen, but I have to start on the windows next week.”

“I thought… I guess I thought it was more of a bare bones kind of thing. I mean, it’s still really impressive, I just don’t get doing more, I guess. People can buy windows.”

“People can buy  _ houses,  _ Q,” he chuckled. “There are… certain structural spells that require purity. Like a Clean room. The materials can’t be touched by human hands, or the wards won’t take effect correctly.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Neither did I until all this.”

“So, you have to turn… I guess sand, into glass?”

“No. I have to turn  _ quartz _ into glass. Sunderland is a torture artist. I think bloody noses are her kink.”

Quentin frowned. “I guess I kind of underestimated what you were doing.”

“Don’t sound so guilty; I haven’t exactly shared.”

“Well… can I help with anything else? It sounds like a lot.”

“I appreciate it, baby, but I kind of have to learn it myself.”

“No, I mean…” Quentin sat up a little. “What about the cocktails? I could help with that.”

Eliot gave him a confused look. “Since when did you learn to spell alcohol without it tasting like motor oil?”

“Not that, just… there’s usually a few recipes, right?” Eliot nodded. “And knowing Josh, he’ll want twice that many. I could help pick them out, maybe.”

Eliot appeared thoughtful. “Well, you’d probably have better ideas for this specific menu, now that I think about it.”

“What do you mean?”

Eliot smiled gently. “Josh wants a fictional theme for his party; costumes will be required.” Quentin curled his lip unhappily. “Oh, you leave that to me. I’ve been having ideas. But… maybe a few puns or references would be helpful? Hoberman would enjoy that.”

“You mean like butterbeer or ent-draught?”

Eliot rolled his eyes, somehow conveying annoyance and adoration all at once. “Yes, like that. I can take a list to him on Monday and decide what spells will work best with his selections.”

“I can think of plenty of those, too,” Quentin promised, settling back against his boyfriend’s side. 

“I know, you nerd.” Quentin’s eyes fell shut as he felt Eliot’s fingers trailing through his hair. “Thank you, though.”

Quentin smiled, knowing he’d quietly breached another barrier Eliot had erected long before they’d met. Still, voicing his relief over finally being allowed to shoulder any of Eliot’s burdens, or even being allowed to know they existed, would only take them two steps back. “No problem,” he replied easily, falling quiet to let the vulnerable moment pass. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	42. Guide You Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with the end of a depressive episode. Please take care of yourselves.

_ Sunday, two weeks later. _

_ Quentin _

“Q.”

Quentin wanted to turn away from the sound of Eliot’s voice, didn’t want to wake. Just the one syllable started the litany within his brain anew; the doubt, the fear that masked itself as anger, the emptiness, they all had something to say already, and he hadn’t even opened his eyes. 

_ He’s not going to put up with this forever. How many times did you fuck up yesterday? He’s better than this. Better than you. You know that, and you still just keep torturing yourself. He’ll hate you before it’s over, and you won’t even have a friend. _

With forcible effort, Quentin cleared his thoughts and took a deep breath, holding it within his lungs before slowly releasing it. He felt Eliot’s hand around his and turned his wrist to squeeze it before forcing his eyes open, finding his boyfriend sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze filled with badly disguised concern. 

“Hey,” Quentin croaked. 

“Hey,” Eliot greeted him softly, reaching his other hand up to brush the hair from Quentin’s face. “It’s nine. Are you sure you still want to go? Joey will understand if you don’t.” 

Quentin sighed. “No, I need to.” He moved to sit up and Eliot gave him the space, scooting down the bed a bit as Quentin threw the blankets aside. 

“Can I help with anything?” he asked, his tone neutral. 

Just the simple question made Quentin want to cry, because Eliot was so  _ careful  _ with him, and had been for days. It was almost funny, how the man was so much better at handling this than Julia, and at the same time, so much worse. He was constantly changing tactics, better at reading Quentin’s quicksilver shifts in moods than Julia had ever been because he didn’t seem to try to make sense of them. Which was smart, really. He also saved his pushing for essential things. Eliot didn’t argue if Quentin didn’t do anything but read for hours, or only agreed to eat pretzels for dinner. In those moments, his boyfriend was indulgent, acting like Quentin’s behavior was just another quirk of his personality and not the result of a depressive episode.

But there had also been times Eliot had turned on him, making it clear his benevolence was a choice now that they were dating. Quentin had quickly learned taking his pills wasn’t up for debate, and that locked bathroom doors resulted in broken bathroom doors. 

He’d also learned to aim his more cutting comments at Eliot or to keep his mouth shut. Just the memory of Eliot sending him out of the common room like a misbehaving child the prior afternoon was enough to make him want to squirm under his gaze now. 

But Eliot had asked him a question. 

“Um. Can I just…” Quentin reached for Eliot’s hand, and that’s all he had to do before Eliot was wrapped around him, his chin resting on the top of Quentin’s head. “I’m sorry,” he said into his boyfriend’s shirt. 

“Today’s a new day. Do you think you’re up for a shower?”

“That bad?” Quentin laughed.

“No, just wondering. Bambi may come after you if you put it off until tomorrow, though.” Eliot sat back to look at him warmly. “Will you try to eat something before you go?”

Quentin curled his lip a bit. “I can have a donut when we get there.”

Eliot shook his head. “We both know you won’t, though.”

“I’m just really not hungry, El.”

“Okay,” he relented. “But when you get back, I’m going to get pushy about it. And there will be nutrients involved.”

Quentin smiled tiredly. “I can find something when I get back. You’ve got enough to do without babysitting me.”

“Nonsense,” Eliot told him, tucking Quentin’s slightly greasy hair behind his ear. “I don’t have anything going on until tomorrow.”

“You’re with Sunderland tomorrow.”

“I know my schedule, Q,” Eliot told him with a mildly teasing smirk. “I’ve studied as much as I can.”

“And Josh’s party?”

“Everything is ready for that, too.”

“Including our costumes you won’t let me see?”

Eliot gave him a genuine grin this time. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“Oh, I’m worried.”

“I wouldn’t make you wear anything you’re uncomfortable in. I just want to surprise you.”

“Okay,” he replied before letting out a heavy breath. “I guess I should get up.”

Eliot rubbed at his shoulder before standing from the bed. “I need to get back downstairs before Todd burns breakfast. See you when you get back?”

Quentin nodded and Eliot left the room, leaving him little choice but to get dressed and ready. He kept it simple, dressing in his largest sweatshirt and really only brushing his teeth before he headed downstairs. 

Joey was waiting on one of the sofas, and was unable to hide his relief when he spotted Quentin. “You’re okay to go?” he asked anyway.

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, let’s head out before I change my mind, though.”

The morning light was bright when the men stepped outside, and Quentin squinted as he lit a cigarette for the walk to the Applied Sciences building, where their first group therapy session would be held. 

“I didn’t see you yesterday,” Joey mused as he exhaled smoke from his own cigarette. 

“Yesterday was pretty rough.”

“Margo  _ did  _ say you got sent to your room,” he chuckled. “I didn’t try asking Eliot about it, though. I like where my head where it’s at.”

“He was still pissed when he came to bed, so I don’t blame you for that.”

Joey grinned, giving him a sideways glance. “Shit, Q, what’d you do?”

“God, do I have to?” he groaned. “I’m actively trying to repress it.”

Joey shrugged. “I’m just curious because Margo seemed pretty fucking amused by whatever it was. She avoided Eliot all night because she was pissing him off.”

“Yeah, well I definitely owe Ford an apology. Maybe an entire edible arrangement. Of actual edibles, probably.”

Joey’s eyes lit up in surprise. “Wait. You were shitty to  _ Ford?  _ Now you have to tell me.”

Quentin sighed. “Okay, so apparently Ford is really good with charming objects? And he made these straws for Josh’s party that are spelled with flavors. I was trying to study and him and Eliot were sitting across from me, and I was already pissed off because I didn’t want to be downstairs.” Joey didn’t ask him to elaborate as to why, and he wondered if Margo had told him about the broken door incident and how Eliot had insisted he be within line of sight after that. 

“Anyway, he was practically in Eliot’s lap, like ‘if you suck  _ this  _ one, it’s pineapple’ and ‘if you suck  _ this one…’”  _ Quentin blinked, shaking his head. “After a few minutes, I offered to leave if there was anything else he wanted Eliot to suck.”

Joey gaped at him, eyes wide and round as his mouth fell open before he nearly sank to the sidewalk laughing. Quentin could feel himself blushing from embarrassment as the other man righted himself. 

“Coldwater, I had no idea you were such a  _ bitch,”  _ he said, looking awestruck before he smirked suggestively. “And this whole time I thought you were such an obedient little thing.”

Quentin squirmed under the assessment. “Yeah, I think El would argue that. But I definitely crossed the line yesterday.”

“How are you feeling today, though?” Joey asked, voice slightly more serious.

Quentin shrugged. “Not… mad, I guess. So that’s an improvement. Eliot didn’t seem mad this morning, either, so I guess we’re okay.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about with him. I do appreciate you dragging your sad ass out of bed for this, though. You really didn’t have to.”

“No, I did. I mean, yeah I feel like shit. But there’s going to be people there that feel like this every day, and… it sucks, you know? They should know there’s someone who understands that.”

“Well, going off the state of your hair, they’ll get the message,” Joey teased.

Quentin frowned. “Eliot said it wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah? Well, Eliot  _ lied.” _

*

_ Eliot _

When Quentin and Joey returned from their therapy session, Eliot was grateful for the additional company in the common room. He’d been stuck with Alice and Margo’s arguing over the last half hour and he’d been on the knife’s edge of just telling them to go look for the solution in Margo’s toy chest and leave him the fuck out of it, thank you.

Because while the women were discussing recipe variations for Buchet’s Draught of Conservancy, there was a clearly an argument happening underneath that made no sense to him. Alice seemed to have an issue with every word that came out of Margo’s mouth, and he couldn’t fathom why his best friend was indulging in her little snit at all. 

He sighed in relief when Quentin sank down next to him on the sofa, and Joey took the open seat next to Margo, which caused Alice’s eyes to flare a bit before she looked back to her textbook. What the fuck did Joey have to do with this?  _ The plot thickens. _

Eliot put his arm around Quentin’s shoulder, tapping it lightly until he turned to meet his eye. “All good?” he asked softly.

Quentin shrugged. “Yeah, it was alright. No one left like Joey was afraid they would, and the therapist was nice.”

“Good. Now,” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Tell me if you can figure out what the fuck is going on here, because I think it’s about to get more interesting.”

Quentin gave him a quizzical look, but nodded before turning his attention towards the other sofa, where the argument was continuing. 

“I’m just saying, you’re going to fuck it up,” Margo sighed, leaning back a little onto Joey’s shoulder. 

“I’m not going to ‘fuck it up’ if I’m using the exact recipe from the text,” Alice sighed.

_ “One  _ recipe from  _ one  _ text,” Margo pointed out. “You should really follow Lorrine Loughty’s blog; she’s an artist with this stuff.”

“It will be fine with the rosemary and the willow frond; adding the mint will destroy the cohesive properties.”

Margo rolled her eyes. “That’s why you add the gum arabic, though.”

Alice shook her head, leaning over a notebook to scratch something in the margins. “That’s ridiculous when you can just use the original ingredients. You’re just making it more complicated that way.”

“No, honey, you’re making it drinkable.”

Alice’s head turned towards Margo at the drop of the endearment, and Eliot held his breath. “Well, I’ve already tried the original, and I thought it was just fine. I guess maybe I don’t have a refined palate?” And with that, Alice flipped her textbook shut, gathered her things, and sashayed calmly from the room. 

“What the fuck,” Quentin whispered while Margo rolled her eyes, sinking back into the sofa. 

“Bambi, have you done something to poor Miss Quinn?” Eliot drawled.

“Not a fucking thing,” she groaned, hiding her face against Joey’s arm.

“Well, you were kind of flirting with her for a little bit,” Quentin reminded her and Eliot bit back a smile over the fact that Quentin was willingly joining the conversation. It had been a long week for the both of them, and he was hoping it might mean an end was in sight. 

“Yeah, but she didn’t take the bait.”

“Well, maybe she’s jealous there’s another fish,” Eliot mused, giving Joey a playful look. “Either way, you should probably sort that.”

“Hey, not my problem,” Margo replied, sitting up again to leave the sofa. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

Joey soon left the room as well, in search of something to eat, and Eliot was left with a silent Quentin at his side. “So, you seem to feel a little better today,” he commented neutrally, looking to see if Quentin would return his gaze. 

“Yeah, a little.” And then those brown eyes were staring up at him, full of regret. “I’m really sorry about yesterday, El. I’ll, um, find Ford tomorrow and apologize.”

“No need, he’s been handled.”

Quentin surprised him by arching a jealous brow. “Has he now?”

Eliot chuckled. “Oh, we’ve got jokes?” He brushed his thumb over Quentin’s lip. “That means in a day or two, I may even get a smile out of you.”

But Quentin gave him one right then instead.

*

_ Joey _

Joey tried telling himself it was none of his business. He stood in the kitchen and ate a muffin with some leftover coffee someone else had made earlier. He went outside to smoke. He went up to his room and spent half an hour trying to convince himself to reach out to his grandparents, something he devoted a few minutes to each day but still hadn’t made any progress on. 

The problem was, he liked Alice Quinn. He liked Julia a lot, too. But it had been Alice who had introduced herself before asking a single question of him, had initiated a conversation before she’d asked,  _ “Would you mind if I cast a few Reveal spells on you?” _

No one else had asked. Not the police he’d originally gone to at the command of Adhira. Not the professors when he’d arrived. Hardly anyone had even given him their name, outside of the lead detective and the dean. 

On top of that, she’d never looked at him with any pity, which he couldn’t say for Julia. She’d been caring, but still professional, with an air of “shit happens” that he’d appreciated. It was her knowledge of magic that had given Joey his first thin thread of hope that he’d actually escaped Bayati for real, even when he’d been terrified of betraying her in the Clean Room. Because he could have, without those spells active. But it wasn’t until after he’d left that room that his hope had started to outweigh his fear. 

He hadn’t seen much of Alice since they’d apprehended Bayati, and it had become clear to him she wasn’t really a  _ part  _ of things at the cottage, which didn’t make much sense to him. Everyone was polite to her, but she never remained in the common room for long. He’d been surprised to find her with Quentin the night he’d first slept with Margo, but had been pulled away before he’d really gotten a chance to talk to her. And now he was sure he’d missed something or upset her in some way, and it just wasn’t sitting right with him.

So, Joey found himself knocking on the door to her bedroom, having no idea what he planned to say but determined to make sure he hadn’t fucked up in some way. 

When Alice’s eyes landed on him through the crack in the door, she seemed so confused she stepped back, allowing the door to swing open. “Um. Hi, Joey. Do you need something?”

“Not really, but do you care if I come in for a sec?”

Alice shook her head a bit, letting him into her bedroom before pushing the door to latch and taking a seat at her desk, her hands settling primly in her lap. That left Joey with the bed, and he sat on the end of it to face her. 

When Alice didn’t speak, Joey pressed his lips together for a moment before deciding just to jump in. “I got the feeling you weren’t happy earlier,” he told her. “I’m not trying to get into your business. I just wanted to make sure it’s not something I’ve done.”

Alice’s blue eyes darted over his face before glancing off to the side. “You haven’t done anything,” she assured him, her voice tight with nerves. “I’m just… it’s stupid.”

“Well, I’m known to be an idiot, so if you felt like it…” he trailed off. 

She smiled for an instant, just the tiniest quirk of her lips. “I don’t know. You’re probably the last person I should talk to about it; it would be… crass.”

“Why, because I’ve slept with Margo?” Seeing the sharp little look she sent him before she could correct herself, Joey smiled. “Sorry, but the part where it involved her was a little obvious. I just wasn’t sure if it also involved me somehow.”

She shook her head. “Not… really? It mostly just involves me and the… screwed up year I’ve had. I shouldn’t be upset with anyone about it. I’ve just been… I’ve changed a lot lately, and now it feels like I’ve started a race of some kind, but I’m so far behind that it’s hopeless.” Her eyes narrowed. “Fucking foxes.”

Joey laughed a bit under his breath, wildly confused. “Okay, so there’s Margo. A race? And foxes, which I’m assuming has something to do with Q?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “He  _ told  _ you?”

Joey shrugged. “We talk. Eliot is a little sensitive when it comes to certain topics.”

Alice looked to her lap, her hair hiding her face. “Well. It was… nice? D-Don’t think I have a thing for Quentin, I don’t. It was just… free? I… sex before that was always so  _ stressful,  _ you know?” She winced, shooting him an apologetic glance. “That was insensitive, I’m sorry.”

Joey waved his hand. “We’re not talking about me, go ahead.”

“Okay. Just… I’d have to get so drunk to even think about sex. I had to  _ plan  _ it. And it was just… so impersonal. And after Antarctica, I started wondering if it could be different.” She let out a wry little laugh. “I started this whole project of trying to  _ find  _ myself, or maybe just  _ accept  _ myself. And it hasn’t been a total failure, but I’m afraid I’m just too… different to find what I’m looking for here. Not that I’m even sure what that is yet.”

“Alright,” Joey replied. “So, how does Margo factor into you finding yourself? Or have I lost the plot?”

Alice grinned. “I… she seemed to like me? Or she seemed interested, at least. I thought so, anyway. But there was so much going on, and by the time I had a minute to think, she was back to ignoring me. And then, the party. With you. It was like I didn’t exist. I mean, I’m not heartbroken or anything. And please don’t think I’m jealous. I just… I don’t understand how to keep up? And that’s not even the entire problem. I don’t know if I’m in the type of person that can handle casual sex. It’s all I ever really experienced, but it’d be nice to have… more than that, I think.”

Joey smiled. “So, are you saying you want to date Margo?”

Alice’s nose wrinkled. “Not exactly. I think I’d like to date  _ someone,  _ maybe. Or maybe just experience something not… empty.”

Joey shifted on the bed. “Okay, first thing. Casual doesn’t have to be meaningless. It doesn’t really have to be  _ casual.  _ That can be fun, but there’s more reasons to have sex than there are positions, I’m pretty sure.”

“I didn’t mean to imply… it’s just, all the experience I have with this comes from my parents, and they’re  _ not  _ your ordinary example of a relationship. They have… bacchanals, a-and orgies, and boyfriends with mutating genitalia, and…” She blew out a breath, rolling her eyes. “Maybe it comes from spite, but that’s just not what I want.”

“It  _ sounds  _ like you want intimacy,” he told her, and he knew he’d given her an answer she’d been circling around for some time when her gaze locked on his. “And that’s not stupid. It doesn’t make you unevolved. But I think you’re making some assumptions that are getting in your way, too. So I’m going to get a little personal here, if you’re okay with that.”

She quickly nodded, her brow raised. 

“I spent three years of my life where every time I had sex, it was at the whim of someone else. Not just someone else; a very successful, assertive woman. When that was over, I actually kind of thought I might be done with women. I just wanted something that was my choice, and I wanted a  _ lot  _ of it,” he said with a grin. “And yeah, I didn’t want it to mean anything. I couldn’t handle that.”

“But I’ve been with a few people since I got here, men and women. One night both, in the Tree House,” he admitted. “But I still have an issue with women.”

“Then, why do you…”

“Because I don’t want her to have that power over me anymore. I enjoyed women before her; I had fucking girlfriend off and on all through high school, and I gladly did  _ not  _ wear the pants in that relationship. I miss being able to be that person.” 

Joey realized he was going to tell Alice everything, and sighed. It would probably help her; he just wasn’t sure how he was going to walk away from it. “I lost my shit with Margo the night of the party.”

Alice’s forehead wrinkled in that adorable way he’d come to know in the Clean Room, when she’d been confused over something in her many textbooks during their interviews. “I don’t understand. You two are still…”

“Fucking? Yeah. But… I kept my distance from her at first. Quentin kind of adopted me, and Eliot didn’t have much choice in the matter. But Margo…” he met Alice’s curious eye. “She reminded me of Bayati. Not just the way she looks. She was… assertive. Demanding. And I watched people just  _ obey  _ her. And the more I heard, the more I knew she wasn’t any different in the bedroom. And I got a dumb idea to try to work through my issues, and it... backfired. Big time.

“She could have kicked me out; she honestly should have. But she just… talked me through it, like… every second. And it’s… helping.” Alice wet her lips, looking so sympathetic Joey wanted to crawl under her bed. “My point is, it’s not fucking casual. It’s pretty much the opposite. You don’t have to be in a relationship with someone for shit to get intense. Or intimate.”

Alice looked wary of him now, like he might bolt from the room if she spoke. “I… Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged, some of the tension leaving his body. “If it helps you get laid, it’s no problem.” She smiled in a way that reminded him of Quentin right before his face turned red, but apparently Alice Quinn wasn’t one to blush so easily. “And I should add, if it’s Margo you’re after, you have my full approval. As long as you’re okay to share. But you’d actually have to let her know you’re interested first.”

Alice nodded. “I’ll… maybe work on that.”

Joey smirked. “Well, I  _ have  _ noticed she seems to enjoy watching you walk away, so maybe build on that?”

Alice’s expression turned just a little seductive, if still a bit shaky with it. “Well, I  _ do  _ have a good skirt collection.”

Joey laughed. “Let’s see a few. With your wardrobe and my evil genius, I think we can work up something that’ll get her drooling.”

Alice looked excited, but suddenly very shy. “I can’t just… change in here with you.”

Joey closed his eyes. “Promise I won’t look.” He opened them, teasingly looking her up and down. “Unless you want me to.”

“You’re terrible,” she scolded him, but it didn’t stop her from hopping up to begin searching through her closet. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	43. To Be Better Now

_ Saturday _

_ Quentin _

“Hold still, you squirrel.”

“You’re going to poke me in the eye.”

Eliot gave him a tired look. “I am not, stop being a baby.”

Quentin sighed, trying to hold his face still as he looked up towards the ceiling. He could  _ not  _ look at his boyfriend currently, not when he was so close. They’d never make it downstairs. 

He felt the slight pressure of the eyeliner as Eliot rolled it across the bottom lid of his right eye before moving to the left. He’d already applied it to the top, which hadn’t been quite so nerve-wracking. “There, you’re done. And the world didn’t end.”

Quentin glared up at Eliot, and  _ fuck.  _ Shouldn’t have looked. He saw the beginnings of a knowing grin on Eliot’s lips before he tore his eyes away. “Whatever is wrong, my love?”

“Fuck you,” Quentin laughed softly. “Like you don’t know what you look like.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting it to turn you on so much,” he chuckled, his fingers turning Quentin’s chin back towards him. “And it’s not like you’re the only one suffering.” He pointedly looked Quentin up and down.

“I let you put eyeliner on me,” Quentin reminded him. “I’m not like…”

_ A fucking wet dream,  _ he almost said, his eyes roaming over the thick precise lines bordering Eliot’s hazel eyes, making them bright and bold in contrast. His eyelids were shimmering with some burnished shade of gold that faded into a deep red that matched his costume. Quentin had wondered why Eliot had stopped shaving a week ago, until he’d come out of their bathroom tonight with his stubble shaped into a goatee, his cheekbones dusted with something that reflected the light every time he moved. 

Now, a brass diadem was settled across Eliot’s forehead, with a single red stone embedded in its center that rested just above the man’s brow. Quentin reached up to brush a stray curl away from the stone. “Your hair’s getting long.”

“I know. I keep meaning to have it cut, but…” He shrugged.

“I’m not sure I want you to,” Quentin admitted, and Eliot’s brow arched in surprise. “I mean, of course you can, but… I like it this way.” Looking over the black linen robe that nearly touched Eliot’s feet, with its red embroidery stitched at the edges of the sleeves and around the deep V of the collar, and the red sash that was tightly knotted at Eliot’s waist, he grinned. “I still have no idea who you’re supposed to be, though. Except… hot.”

“Well, I took some creative liberties,” Eliot admitted. “I think you need a different perspective for it to fall into place.” 

Eliot turned him at the shoulders, directing Quentin towards the floor length mirror that was nearly hidden between the dressed and the hulking armoire. 

Quentin looked at his reflection, still perplexed for a moment. Eliot had pulled his hair back as much as possible; it was barely long enough for it, and several pieces had already fallen to frame his face. The eyeliner was… different. Smudgier than Eliot’s. He didn’t know shit about makeup.

The costume itself was very simple, just a white linen tunic and loose pants, completed by a long, black linen vest that ended just above the knee. Eliot stood behind him, waiting for Quentin to put it together. “I still don’t know, El,” he admitted. “We look… good, though.”

Quentin watched Eliot roll his eyes in the mirror before he leaned close, starting to hum near Quentin’s ear. It took him a moment to realize the song was “Arabian Nights,” and he looked up at his boyfriend in shock. “You dressed me as  _ Aladdin?”  _ Eliot nodded, grinning unrepentantly. “And I’m guessing you’re Jafar, but where’s the giant hat?”

“Please, Q,” Eliot said, straightening up to his full height. “A turban would have lasted ten minutes with how busy I’m going to be, and besides. I look fucking  _ good  _ in a crown.”

Quentin couldn’t argue that. “Okay, fine. But I’m not sure dressing as mortal enemies was a brilliant plan.”

“Why not? The implication is hot. And I tried getting Margo to be Jasmine, but she was dead set on Maleficent.”

“You guys watch entirely too much Disney for people who claim to be so unwholesome.” He looked to his feet. “Are there shoes for this?”

Eliot nodded, going to his closet to pull two boxes from the shelf. “The closest thing I could find were velvet moccasins, but they look alright.” He handed Quentin a pair to slip on, sliding his feet into the other. “Are we ready, then?”

“Now or never, I guess,” Quentin sighed, letting Eliot lead the way towards the hall.

The common room was already crowded when they stepped onto the first floor, and Quentin looked around for anyone who knew, knowing he shouldn’t crowd the bar all night. Eliot kissed him on his temple before leaving him to start on drinks, and Quentin walked past the area towards the fireplace, hoping to find Julia or Joey.

He spotted Penny quickly, dressed a bit like a goth version of Eliot, and he didn’t understand the look until he saw Kady on his arm, clearly dressed as Morticia Addams in a clinging black gown. He didn’t see Julia with them, however, so he continued towards the back of the room until he spotted a felt beret and pleated skirt that called up dozens of memories. 

Smiling, Quentin followed Julia towards the kitchen, watching her open the cabinets in search of something. “Hey, Jules.”

She startled a bit before turning to smile at him, looking him over. “Um… what are you?”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Aladdin, apparently. You should really see Eliot. How did you manage to put together Jane Chatwin? I know that’s not your costume from middle school.”

She grinned, and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “It took some very specific online searches,” she confessed. “The beret was ridiculous.”

“Well, you look great,” he replied, wondering if he should ask her how she was doing; he hadn’t seen a lot of her lately, but their course work had also been fairly insane the past few weeks. He probably had his own bags under his eyes.

“So do you,” she told him. “The eyeliner suits you.” She looked back towards the cabinet. “Do you know if there’s wine in here? I’m in a mood.”

“There’s wine at the bar.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Good wine, but I’m in more of a Boone’s Farm mood.”

“Jules, that’s not wine.”

She laughed. “You’re right.”

“I’m totally right, and I also doubt there’s anything that toxic in the house.” He bumped her shoulder when she approached to leave the kitchen with him. “Are you looking to be miserable tomorrow? I’m sure El could throw something together for that.”

Julia opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden loud cheer rang through the house, followed by Usher blasting through the magically enhanced sound system. Quentin watched as large pieces of confetti floated down from the ceiling, caught in criss-crossing beams of multi-colored lights. 

Apparently, Josh had arrived. 

“I can literally see Eliot rolling his eyes right now,” Quentin said. 

“Well, it’s definitely a way to make an entrance,” Julia snickered, pushing him forward to try to get a glimpse of the show. 

Josh came around the stairs moments later, leaned back as he danced past the bar, his brown Jedi robe trailing the floor. Todd was behind him, arms spread out like some surreal combination of Han Solo and Vanna White, encouraging everyone to cheer for the man of the hour.

Eliot was frozen as he watched the display, his eyes large and lips parted, absolutely appalled. Once the two men passed him by, Quentin watched him blink several times in disbelief before returning his attention to the bottles lined up along the bar. 

“Wow, he  _ does  _ look good,” Julia said close to Quentin’s ear, smirking when he turned to look at her. 

Quentin and Julia received the second and third cocktails of the night, and Quentin let his best friend lead him away before Eliot’s heavy gaze on him had him trying to pull his boyfriend upstairs. They were officially ten minutes into the party.  _ It’s going to be a long night. _

He eventually bumped into Margo, finding her horned headpiece and black gown very impressive, and Julia left him then to return to Kady and Penny. He spotted Alice after that, grinning at her Luna Lovegood costume.

But when he saw Joey, Quentin rolled his eyes, walking up to tap the man on the shoulder. 

“Q!” Joey cried, looking a little tipsy before he embraced him tightly. “You look awesome!”

“Um, thanks,” he said as he was released. “You’re a cheater, though.”

Joey looked down at his leather jacket, which he wore nearly daily. He was wearing a pair of tight black jeans and a white t-shirt with it, which were also just his normal clothes. “What? I tucked in the shirt.”

“Who are you even supposed to be?”

“Danny Zuko, motherfucker,” he laughed. “What are you, Eliot’s concubine?”

Quentin tried to glare at the man but ended up laughing instead. “I mean, probably.”

Joey grinned. “Hey, Josh just invited everyone outside to smoke, you wanna come with?”

Quentin shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

The patio was crowded when they stepped outside, but there were plenty of blunts to go around, and it wasn’t long before he had a pleasant head change. When Joey offered him another hit, he shook his head. “Nah, I’m gonna drink some more, it’s still early.”

“Probably smart; shit’s strong.” 

Quentin noticed him smiling at something across the lawn and followed his eye to see Victoria in Josh’s lap, wiggling suggestively. “Oh. Well, that’s… Weren’t you and her..?”

Joey smiled. “Yeah, a couple of times. But I figured out pretty quick it was to make Josh jealous. Good for her.”

“I guess.”

Joey gave him a knowing look. “God, are you one of those people that thinks because you’re all happy and tied down everyone should be?”

Quentin shook his head. “No way. Just… checking in, I guess.”

“I’m good, Q. Pretty sure it’ll be a long time before I’m even thinking about that, if I ever do.”

“Fair enough. I’m gonna get another drink. Want anything?”

“I’ll come with, I’ve got some shit to do anyway.”

Quentin was too high to question him and already trying to prepare himself to lay eyes on Eliot again. He didn’t even notice when Joey split away from him before he reached the bar. 

“What can I get you, handsome?” Eliot asked with a slow smile, handing off some sort of martini to a pink-haired first year. 

It was obvious the man knew how much his current look was affecting Quentin. “A bourbon’s fine,” he replied.

“Want one of these straws to go with? I think there’s a honey one in there somewhere.”

Quentin looked at the jar of spelled straws with a disgusted face. “No thanks.” Taking the offered glass, he coolly stepped away, wondering if there was any way at all to make Eliot suffer as much as he was. He figured it was a lost cause; he didn’t exactly exude sex the way his boyfriend did. 

Seeing no one he knew close by, Quentin leaned against the wall near the kitchen to sip at his drink, just in line of sight of the bar. Two third years approached Eliot for drinks, and he watched him preen a little flirtatiously as they obviously complimented his costume before he looked around, his eyes landing on Quentin and smiling as he gestured towards him. The women seemed to think their costumes were  _ adorable _ and Quentin smiled with dry disinterest in thanks, not appreciating being fawned over like a golden retriever. 

“Rude,” Eliot mouthed at him playfully as the women walked away towards the stairs. Quentin returned it with a look that clearly stated he didn’t give a fuck, and thrilled a little as his boyfriend’s stare turned heated. “Brat.”

Quentin shrugged.

After that, Eliot upped the stakes by pretending Quentin wasn’t there while he obviously showed off for him, smoking elegantly, closing his eyes and wetting his lips after nearly every drink he took, and once completing a very impressive flip of his cocktail shaker while mixing a drink for Todd. He was also mouthing along to some of the smuttier lyrics to the music playing through the common room, seemingly no longer embarrassed over knowing them. 

“Well, this is one way to spend your night.”

Quentin looked to see Joey had settled next to him against the wall. “Where’d you go?”

“Trying my skills as a matchmaker. It’s going nowhere fast.”

Quentin laughed, because that was just… absurd. “Wait, what?”

“Alice thinks she wants to bang Margo,” he explained. “I’m trying to help her out.”

“O-Oh. Aren’t  _ you  _ still doing that, though?”

His brow quirked as he frowned. “I don’t claim anything with Margo.”

“I know, I was talking about Alice. She’s okay with that?”

He shrugged. “Seems to be so far, but I’m not really sure this is the kind of party to make something happen. Margo’s all over the place tonight.”

“She’s probably afraid to let Todd host,” he laughed. 

Joey smiled crookedly. “Well, I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve before I give up for the night. Have fun creeping on your literal boyfriend, though.”

Quentin glared at his back as he walked away.

*

_ Eliot _

Eliot took a measured sip from his cocktail before setting it aside, making sure to pace himself until he could leave the bar for the night. Quentin very obviously wanted to be fucked this evening, and Eliot had every intention of making that happen as soon as possible.

He couldn’t deny he was enjoying the little game of voyeurism Quentin was playing at, though, and when his boyfriend approached the bar again, he kept his gaze as cool and innocent as possible. “Another bourbon?” he asked.

Quentin looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. “Surprise me.”

Well, that was new and fun. “Okay.” Thinking quickly, Eliot grabbed the Campari from the shelf and whipped together an Americano he thought Quentin would enjoy, performing the tiniest confidence spell on it before handing it over to him. He wasn’t looking to embarrass the man, but he looked too hot to not believe in his own charms for an hour or two. “Now go away so I can flirt with you.”

Quentin laughed but obeyed, and Eliot was soon distracted by Josh and no less than five women who all wanted one of the most difficult cocktails that had made it onto the menu. It required Eliot to shake the absolute shit out of the mixture to reach the perfect consistency. Deciding he was definitely using his telekinesis for this, he got to work. He was quick about it, but once the group walked away, there were several others waiting behind them. 

When the line was dealt with, Eliot lit a cigarette, glancing around the room. The filter almost fell from his lips when his gaze landed on Quentin.

Who was  _ dancing. _

Well. Swaying in place was probably a better term for it, but still. There was movement, possibly even rhythm. 

And Margo was dancing with him, her back pressed to Quentin’s chest as she held his hands around her waist. She seemed to feel the intensity of Eliot’s gaze, however, looking towards him a moment later and grinning before she beckoned him over excitedly. 

Eliot glanced around a moment before quickly deciding he didn’t give a fuck who stepped behind his bar. When would this ever happen again? 

He looked down at his Bambi with a teasing grin once he met them on the floor. “May I borrow my boyfriend?” he asked.

Quentin looked up, and Eliot could see his blush under the dim lights as Margo stepped away and he stepped in, resting his hands on Quentin’s hips and moving against him. “I take it you enjoyed your drink?”

Quentin rolled his hips a little in response, smirking, and Eliot inhaled sharply, looking down into his kohl-rimmed eyes.  _ Jesus.  _ “How drunk are you?”

He shook his head. “Not very. You’re the one that magicked my drink.”

“You  _ asked  _ me to surprise you.”

“I did, but you picked the spell. You can deal with it.”

“Oh, I definitely can,” Eliot purred, his fingers grazing the small of Quentin’s back over his thin shirt. “I think I’ll spell your drinks from now on.”

Quentin only arched an eyebrow in response, his head nodding along silently to the music. Eliot felt a little silly for how much this was all affecting him; it wasn’t as if Quentin was grinding against him. He’d done dirtier dancing in middle school. It was just his  _ hips,  _ and all the lovely images the movement of them under his hands elicited. 

“Kiss me?” he murmured near Quentin’s ear, eyes closing as his request was granted, though in a much more innocent way than he would have liked. Seeing the challenge in Quentin’s eye as he pulled away, however, he realized that had been on purpose. “What do you want, Q?”

Quentin lifted himself on his toes to reply. “I want you to take me upstairs. Now.”

Eliot glanced around, blinking slowly in an effort to ground himself. “Q, the party…”

But Quentin only linked his arms around Eliot’s neck, staring up at him. “You really care about the party right now?”

Feeling just the  _ slightest  _ brush of Quentin’s erection against his hip, definitely intentional, Eliot exhaled shakily, promising himself that Quentin Coldwater would never drink anything but magical Americanos from here on out.

“Yeah, fuck the party.”

Reaching their bedroom in record time, Eliot slammed the door before pulling Quentin firmly against him, devouring his mouth with slow, bruising kisses, the force of them tilting Quentin’s chin up. Eliot reached to fist his hand into Quentin’s hair, forcing his head back as he bit and licked a tender path down the side of his neck. 

Quentin arched into him, grasping his arms as he moaned.  _ “Eliot.” _

Holding him by the hair, Eliot pressed his leg against Quentin’s until he lifted his foot, then followed with his other, backing Quentin towards the bed. “Can I have you rough?” he murmured against Quentin’s ear. 

_ “Fuck yes,”  _ Quentin whispered.

“You gonna do everything I tell you to?” he asked, his tone sweetly threatening.

“Yeah.” The softest little whimper.

“Good.” 

Eliot rocked his hips into Quentin’s, grinding their cocks against one another, making Quentin cry out. Eliot yanked on his hair in reward, licking a stripe up his neck as he slipped off the vest of Quentin’s costume. He quickly pulled the shirt over his head and dropped his pants and boxers to his ankles before stepping back and removing his robe and briefs, tossing the diadem to the floor with them.

Grabbing Quentin by the hips, Eliot used a touch of his telekinesis to help him toss him onto the bed, watching his boyfriend move towards the headboard as he followed after him. 

He blinked when instead of settling onto his back, Quentin rolled onto his side, almost onto his stomach. “El, like this,” he whispered, reaching back for Eliot, pulling at his forearm until Eliot was stretched over his side, on his knees behind Quentin.

They hadn’t done this.  _ Mark  _ had done this, so Eliot had never asked, never tried. “You sure?” he asked, brushing Quentin’s hair from his face. 

“Please. Want you… to have this, not... Every way, okay?”

“Alright,” Eliot agreed tenderly, leaning to press a kiss against Quentin’s temple, his hand resting against Quentin’s heart before moving down his stomach to brush at the curls around his cock. “On your knees, then. Shoulders on the bed,” he said quietly, leaning away to give Quentin room to move. Eliot moved behind him, his eyes roaming over Quentin’s flesh as he took a moment to center himself. He understood when Quentin said “like this,” he didn’t just mean the position. Quentin wanted Eliot to give him that tiny part of himself he always kept leashed when they fucked, unwilling to remind Quentin of any part of his assault. He’d always kept his teeth firm but careful, his nails a presence but not a threat when they dragged across Quentin’s skin. He’d always stopped just short of pain with his cock and his hands. 

Quentin wanted Mark Davidson out of their bedroom, once and for all. And Eliot had given him the touch of confidence he’d needed to finally ask.

It was a big step, and a heavier responsibility. Eliot braced himself up on his knees, his eyes raking down Quentin’s spine before they settled on his perfectly round ass, spread so beautifully before him. He ran his hands over the firm muscle on each side, moving his thumbs in slow circles. “Safeword, Q.” 

“Oh, um. Waylon?”

Eliot froze, looking sharply towards Quentin’s face, which he could barely see beyond his shoulder. “How the  _ fuck  _ did you learn my middle name?”

Quentin snorted. “Margo.”

“Well,  _ she’s _ dead to me,” he said in low tones, looking to his hands again and raising one to sharply bring it down in a stinging slap to one cheek. Quentin cried out, his hips jerking towards the bed. Eliot watched the skin pink prettily as he ran his thumb down the crack of Quentin’s ass, pressing firmly against his hole. 

“Oh fuck, Eliot,” his boyfriend moaned. A quick movement of Eliot’s fingers and they were dripping with lube, and he slowly began to work his thumb inside, teasing in and out of the entrance, tracing circles around the ring of muscle before withdrawing to sink his middle finger slowly into Quentin’s ass. Quentin’s back arched, and Eliot envisioned something he couldn’t resist. 

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered. “Wrists crossed.”

Eliot worked his finger in and out as Quentin complied, his hips rolling. Eliot added another finger, pumping roughly and dragging his fingers over Quentin’s prostate, spreading and working him open as his thighs trembled. 

Eliot slicked his hand over his own cock, pulling at it roughly before dragging Quentin closer by his hips, the head of him sinking in with little resistance, and he bit his lip as the back of Quentin’s head nearly touched his shoulder, his mouth falling open in a silent cry.

Eliot wrapped a hand around Quentin’s wrists as he held himself there, barely inside. “Remember, Q. Stop doesn’t count tonight. Only your safeword. Okay?” And it was a lie, but Eliot still wanted to know he understood, because maybe sometime in the future, it would be the truth. 

“Yes,” he barely heard Quentin reply, already breathless. 

Eliot snapped his hips forward, sinking his cock inside Quentin, and when he met with resistance he withdrew only for a moment before pressing forward again, grunting from the effort. Quentin’s knees slid slightly across the mattress before he pressed them down, pressed back into Eliot even as he cried out brokenly. Eliot thrust in and out roughly, each time sinking a bit deeper until he was firmly seated inside, and Quentin was gasping for air, his breath hitching in a way that sounded painful. Eliot wanted to check in, but didn’t. Quentin knew his instructions; he’d asked for this. 

Eliot held Quentin’s wrists in one hand and his hip in the other as he fucked into Quentin with punishing, slow strokes, stopping to let the man take his full weight for long seconds before he withdrew. When Quentin’s breathing quieted a bit, Eliot released his wrists and pushed his hands away to fall back onto the mattress. Quentin moved them to cross over his head, squeezing the pillow in his fingers as Eliot dragged his own hands down Quentin’s back, gripping his hips as he started to move faster, making sure to slide over Quentin’s prostate as he quickened his thrusts, each one punctuated by Quentin’s gasps and moans.

Eliot shifted Quentin until he was able to drape himself over the man’s back, needing him closer, needing to feel him move against him, and soon Quentin was propped on his elbows, thrusting back into Eliot’s cock, his head turning to meet Eliot’s eye. “Don’t you look fucked,” Eliot murmured appreciatively, bracing himself on one hand to move Quentin’s hair from his face again, loving the smoky liner framing his eyes. His thumb moved to smear through it before his fingers trailed towards Quentin’s mouth, forcing two of them past his lips and over his tongue. “Suck,” he commanded. Quentin’s eyes fell shut as he sucked at Eliot’s fingers and Eliot smirked, fucking them into Quentin’s mouth as he thrust into his ass, resting the tips of his fingers on the back of Quentin’s tongue until his lips twitched and his mouth flooded with saliva before drawing them back towards his teeth. 

“Such a good boy,” he said softly, his fingers leaving wet trails as they moved towards Quentin’s jaw, his fingers digging into the soft flesh underneath. “Now we get rough,” he warned. Quentin only stared into his eyes in response, his expression a mixture of bliss and anguish that sent a wave of heat crashing through Eliot. 

Holding Quentin by the jaw, Eliot sank down onto him, pressing him into the mattress as he began to fuck him ruthlessly, gasping into Quentin’s ear as he bit into the soft flesh over his shoulder. “Cry for me, Q. I wanna hear you,” he ordered. 

_ “Eliot,”  _ Quentin sobbed, his body jerking from Eliot’s force as he pulled at the pillowcase with his hands.

“Yeah, baby. Cry, that’s it,” he encouraged him, sucking a mark onto his shoulder. “Do you love this?”

_ “Yes,”  _ he rasped, lifting his hips from the bed as Eliot hit his prostate again. 

“Beg me for it, then,” Eliot purred into his neck.

“Eliot,  _ please.”  _ Truly crying now, his voice raw in his throat.

“Remember your safeword, baby,” Eliot murmured, prepared to stop this at any time, to apologize, even as he was totally lost in it. 

“No, fuck me,  _ please. Fuck.”  _ Quentin whimpered. 

And Eliot obeyed, moving his hands to Quentin’s shoulders as he continued to fuck him, gripping him tightly as Quentin wailed and cursed his name. He watched the muscles of his back tense and ripple, watched the curve of his spine as he thrust back to meet Eliot’s cock with every stroke, pleading with his body. 

Eliot pulled Quentin away from the bed, holding him up with an arm across his torso as he settled the smaller man onto his lap, his strokes slowing as he sucked and sank his teeth across his shoulder. Quentin tilted his head back to rest in the crook of Eliot’s neck, panting as Eliot lifted them both from the bed with every thrust. “Lean back, baby, I’m gonna let go of you.” Quentin obeyed, pressing his back against Eliot’s chest, and Eliot moved to hold Quentin’s hips in place as he fucked him deeply, forcing pained, ragged cries from his boyfriend’s throat. “I love you like this, Q,” Eliot whispered into his neck. “Like you need me.”

“...do need you,” Quentin breathed, the words enunciated just enough to be understood. “Need this, I love you.”

“I love you, Quentin,” Eliot promised, trailing soft kisses over his bruising shoulder. He always tried to say it during sex; it was the only time it felt safe, and he thought maybe if he said it enough, the fear of it would subside enough to say it outside the bed. “What do you want, baby? I’ll give it to you.”

Quentin moaned, writhing in his lap and Eliot brushed his palms over his nipples, tugging at them sharply, making him wince and sigh. “Talk to me,” he responded.

“Talk back?”

“I’ll try?”

Eliot smirked, playfully biting near Quentin’s neck. He took a moment to concentrate on his cock again, finding a rhythm that bounced Quentin slightly against him as he thrust, and Eliot could come this way, was already working not to. “That good?”

“Uh. Yeah.” 

“Tell me.”

_ “So  _ good, El. Please…”

“Please what?”

_ “Please.  _ I’m…”

“Harder, then?”

_ “Yes.” _

Eliot obeyed, his fingers denting the flesh of Quentin’s hips as he called on just enough of his magic to make it easier to manipulate Quentin’s weight, to bounce him harder across his thighs as he fucked him. Quentin let out a little whine each time he slammed down onto Eliot’s cock with a slap, and Eliot was intoxicated, his fingers leaving bruises as he chased his own orgasm. 

“You feel so fucking good, Q,” he growled low in Quentin’s ear as he slammed into him, and his eyes flared in eager surprise as he felt Quentin tense against him, clenching on Eliot’s dick as he cried out.

Eliot watched his come spill across the sheet and immediately shoved Quentin down into the mess, his face pressed into the mattress as Eliot fell against him, rutting into him like an animal until his mouth cracked open in a silent cry and he spilled into Quentin, trembling and fisting the bed sheets. 

The silence was only broken by their combined gasps for air as the two men slowly came back to reality. After a minute, Eliot pulled out of Quentin, turning the man onto his back beneath him and licking the traces of come from his belly and chest before sliding his tongue into Quentin’s mouth. Quentin moaned, his hands cradling Eliot’s face as he sucked at his tongue. 

Their kisses eventually gentled, and Eliot ran his fingers through Quentin’s damp hair. “You okay?” he panted.

Quentin laughed quietly against his mouth. “I’m fucking…  _ woo…” _

Eliot giggled _ ,  _ rolling away from him to rest on his back. “Shit.”

“Thank you, El.”

Eliot raised his brow. “You’re thanking me for fucking you?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

And he did. “It went… well, I think. Though I have something much worse planned for that safeword of yours.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” Quentin quipped, moving a bit to grab the cigarettes and ashtray from the nightstand. Eliot reached up when he was handed one, listening as another was snapped into lighting. “Sorry for making you bail, though.”

“It’s no big. Todd can handle it. People are probably too drunk to notice a difference now.”

“Still… if you wanna go back down there, I won’t be mad. As long as I can stay, because I totally can’t walk.”

Eliot grinned. “Let me finish this and I’ll see how fucked I look.”

Quentin rolled onto his side, looking down at him. “You’re just a little sweaty, should be fine. Me, on the other hand… I should shower.”

“I did kind of make a mess of you,” Eliot murmured proudly, pulling him down by the shoulder to kiss him softly. “Go shower. I’ll get myself together enough to go back down for a while.”

“Will you wake me up when you get back?”

Eliot smiled. “Promise.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	44. You Got Something For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! The tags were updated again. And yes, there's only one more chapter after this one. But there are quite a few follow ups, so no worries! Also, I'm posting the last chapter today, because I'm going to be busy tomorrow.

_ Eliot _

After cleaning up a bit in the bathroom and leaving Quentin there to shower, Eliot dressed in his costume again, standing before the dresser mirror to smudge his eyeshadow out of the creases of his lids. He definitely looked like he’d just fucked, but now that his head was clear he didn’t want to disappoint Josh. It was not the first time he’d taken a break from a party for the same reason, and he really couldn’t imagine being embarrassed if someone called him on it. Hoberman would be forgiving of a break as long as he returned from it.

Downstairs, he found Todd behind the bar, and he appeared ridiculously relieved to see him. “Eliot! I’m so glad you’re back!”

Eliot glanced around, seeing no one waiting for a drink. “Um, okay?”

“We have a code Argentina,” the man told him with total seriousness, looking around like someone might overhear him and  _ care.  _

He and Margo had let Todd in on their party codes at the beginning of the year, for which there weren’t many. Clegane meant a fight had broken out (so far unused), Meow meant the party had been busted (also unused), Requiem was for when someone had indulged a bit too much and was freaking out (used more than Eliot liked, really), and Argentina meant someone was crying.

He sighed. “Where?”

“Backyard. It’s Julia.”

Eliot went still. That made it more than an annoyance. “Okay, are you good here?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it, I think. I just didn’t know what to say to her?”

Eliot patted his shoulder. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it. And the gin fizz?” he asked, pointing to the printed menu propped on the bar. “Just don’t try, okay?”

Todd nodded quickly in agreement and Eliot left him to it, doing a visual sweep of the common room on his way to the back door, but not spotting Penny’s tall form or Kady’s sweeping curls. This was on him, unless he decided to drag Quentin from bed, and he didn’t want to do that. He could probably handle this.

The patio was crowded but Eliot found no sign of Julia until he looked out onto the lawn, seeing her small form sitting on the ground alone. She’d removed the beret, but she still looked very childlike in her pleated skirt and white socks. 

She turned when she heard his feet moving through the grass, but quickly looked away again, hurriedly wiping at her face. “Shit. Eliot, what are you doing out here?”

“I was told you were in need of rescue,” he replied lightly, taking a seat next to her on the cool grass. He made sure not to look at her face, not wanting her to feel exposed. “Too much to drink?” 

“No. Just a shitty night. Where’s Q?”

“Oh, um. He’s upstairs.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

Eliot glanced at her from the corner of his eye, silently communicating that something indeed had, and she laughed weakly through her tears. “Jesus, it’s not even midnight.”

“Blame him, I’m entirely innocent. He’s probably half asleep by now, but I can get him if you want?”

She shook her head. “No, let him sleep. This is all my fault, anyway. I don’t even know why I’m so fucking  _ upset.”  _

“What’s your fault?” he asked. 

Julia’s chin wobbled as she looked at him. “I broke up with Penny and Kady.”

Eliot’s eyes widened in surprise. “O-Oh. Like, tonight?” She nodded. “What happened?”

She shook her head. “I just… it was too much? I don’t think I’m cut out for it. I like both of them, a lot, but it was like we all had to be together all the time, you know? I couldn’t just hang out with Kady in the library, or swing by Penny’s dorm. It had to be the three of us, and… people are different when it’s just the two of you. I liked how they were when it was just me and them.”

“Did you not like how it was with all three of you?”

“It was just... different. Kady acts tougher around Penny than she does when it’s just me. And Penny is kind of shy with me, but acts like sex on a stick around Kady. I don’t know how to navigate that, how to shift from one personality to the other. I’m just me, you know?”

“Well, sometimes it’s harder for some people to show their vulnerabilities to others. It depends on the person. Maybe they find it easier to let their guard down around you,” he suggested. Not that he would know anything about that.

“Maybe? But that doesn’t make me feel better when we’re all together and I don’t know how to act.”

“I can see that.”

“I just hope I didn’t fuck up their relationship, too.”

Eliot scoffed. “That is not on your shoulders, Wicker. They made their own decisions.”

“You know that  _ sounds  _ logical, but it doesn’t feel true at the moment.”

“That’s fair.” He looked her at her with a sheepish smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette hidden anywhere in that adorable uniform, would you?”

She smiled, reaching around under her cape and handing him a pack of Newports. Grimacing, Eliot plucked one from the box and returned it to her hand, snapping it life a moment later. “Ugh.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Waugh.”

“Noted. Fuck. But look… is there any reason you can’t date them both, but separately? I mean, they’ve already agreed to something more personal. What about just taking it a step... back?”

She frowned. “I… didn’t think of that. But I’d say that’s a lost cause at this point. They were pretty upset when they left.”

“Give them a few days, then. But if it’s what you want; if you care for them…”

“I do. Maybe I’ll try, I don’t know yet. I need to do a lot of thinking on it. Sober thinking.”

“I thought you weren’t drunk?”

“You said  _ too  _ drunk. I am the appropriate amount.” She reached up, twirling one of his curls around her finger and surprising him a little; he was fairly certain Julia had never touched him before. “You have sex hair.”

He chuckled. “Again, blame your bestie.”

“Oh, like you’re innocent, looking like that.”

He shrugged. “Well, I didn’t really plan this thinking Q was going to be turned on by eyeliner, of all things.”

“Please. Pete Wentz existed during his pubescent years, you know.”

Eliot snorted at that. “Oh, did Quentin have a crush?”

She grinned. “You have  _ no  _ idea.”

*

_ Margo _

Margo was having a hell of a night, and she was starting to think someone had cursed her. Todd was abysmal at the finer details of hosting. He was friendly and kept everyone in a good mood, which was important, but he didn’t seem to be aware of the issues that constantly cropped up at a party. Spills had to be spelled out of the carpets and furniture constantly, arguments needed to be diffused before they brought down the mood or turned physical. People were constantly casting party tricks that didn’t play well together and had to be undone before it started raining all over the furniture or something exploded. The filtering spells also had to be replenished every hour or so. 

And Eliot had just vanished. Margo knew exactly where he’d gone but  _ really?  _ The man was dickmatized, and had left her in the fucking cold, which was unacceptable. 

And on top of all that, there was Alice fucking Quinn, who just  _ kept  _ flouncing past her in that little black skirt, her hips switching in that way that always caused Nancy Sinatra to play in Margo’s head. Where did she need to be, walking around that much? She’d never exactly been a social butterfly. She’d even seen Alice  _ dancing,  _ more than once, a brilliant little smile on her face as Joey had encouraged her off one of the sofas, twirling her under his arm. She actually hadn’t been half bad, either. 

Lighting a cigarette, Margo rounded the bar to check on the other side of the common room and what she saw brought her to stand still so quickly she almost fell out of her stilettos. 

_ Oh, it’s like that,  _ she thought, telling herself she felt unaffected as she watched Joey’s hand playing with the ends of Alice’s blonde locks. She couldn’t see Alice’s face, but Joey was sure as hell grinning like a cat. They were close enough to kiss, facing each other in the window seat. 

She almost felt…  _ something  _ (not jealousy, because that was ridiculous, Margo did not  _ do  _ jealousy and never had), but then she saw the flirtatious expression fall from Joey’s animated features, watched his dark eyes glance around the room before he rolled them, smiling more naturally when he returned his gaze to Alice with a shrug. He also dropped his hand from her hair, leaning away to give her space. 

_ What the fuck?  _ Margo crossed her arms. She’d seen them dancing earlier, but it had just seemed flirty and playful, not really charged with any sexual tension. And now Joey seemed to be putting on a show for someone that wasn’t watching. Was he trying to show Alice off or something? Make someone jealous? It seemed a little childish, but Margo had resorted to far worse in her past.

Her eyes widened as she suddenly recalled all the times Alice had just  _ happened _ to step in front of her in the past two hours, her gaze focused straight ahead as if she hadn’t even noticed Margo at all. Combined with the woman’s strange behavior towards her lately...

_ It’s me!  _ she realized.  _ They’re fucking with  _ me!

“Oh,  _ hell  _ no.” Mouth turning down in irritation, Margo marched over to the window seat, grabbing Joey by the neck of his shirt before he could even turn his head her way. “Hey, wh--”

“My room. Now,” she ordered as she yanked him up. She turned her sharp eyes towards Alice. “You, too. We’re going to have a  _ chat.” _

It was clear Joey was trying to suppress a smile as he turned towards the stairs, but Alice’s eyes were wide as she nodded, setting her mostly empty drink aside to follow. 

In her bedroom, Margo pointed to her bed. “Sit.” Joey took a seat on the side of the bed and Alice joined him, her hands smoothing down her skirt. Margo stood up straight, crossing her arms and throwing her shoulders back, which she imagined looked hot as fuck with her horns still in place. Still, this was serious. Reaching up, she lifted the headpiece from her hair and placed it on her dresser before returning to stare down at them. “Okay, so apparently there’s been a little  _ game  _ I wasn’t informed of. Would anyone like to share so I can play?”

Joey lifted his brow, all innocence and Alice turned her head to the side, but a second later Margo heard a little giggle escape her, and watched as she slapped her hand over her mouth. 

“Am I funny?”

_ “Yes,”  _ Alice sputtered, and then Joey was shaking with laughter, pressing his lips together to hold it in. 

Margo sighed as she looked between them. “Are you two chucklefucks wasted?”

Alice threw her head back laughing, looking towards Joey who quickly lost it as well. 

Margo could see she’d lost control of the situation entirely, which was unfamiliar for her. “Would anyone like to fill me in?” she shouted over their laughter. 

Alice glanced at her, flapping a hand as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m sorry!” she gulped. “It’s just you’ve been all… kind of uptight all night, and you know, my costume? And earlier, you were all mad and huffy and J-Joey said ‘watch out, here comes Umbridge!’” She collapsed into giggles against Joey’s shoulder.

Margo glared furiously at Joey. “Okay,  _ not cool.” _

“I meant in a hot way?” he hedged, his voice wavering from trying not to laugh. 

“It was a little hot, wasn’t it?” Alice said quietly, like a confession against Joey’s arm. 

“You’ll think hot when I tie you to the bed and introduce you to Black Betty,” Margo threatened the man. “And that was a month out in my plan, so I’d behave if I were you.”

Joey opened his mouth to speak, but Alice sat up quickly, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What’s Black Betty?”

Margo looked at her closely, trying to gauge just how drunk the woman was. She’d made it up the stairs without any trouble and wasn’t slurring her words at all. Her eyes weren’t even glassy. So, drunk, but not in a problematic way. “You had anything besides liquor tonight, Quinn?”

“No, I barely even drink,” Alice laughed. “I was just curious. My mom has quite a collection, but I’ve never seen anyone else’s.”

“Is that right?” Margo drawled. “Well, okay. Let me get out of this dress first, though.” She untied the cape and draped it over the end of her bed before turning her back to Alice. “Unzip me?”

She felt Alice tug down the zipper, and once it was low enough, Margo let the dress fall to the floor, revealing the black sports bra and running shorts she’d been wearing underneath. Stepping out of her heels, she made her way to her bureau, sliding the bottom drawer open and finding the mentioned strap-on and harness, which she presented to Alice. 

Alice took it hesitantly in her hands, eyes widening. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “That’s…”

Margo laughed. “Yeah. Eliot wanted me to name it The Destroyer, but I refused on the fact that it’s about the same size as his dick. He didn’t need the ego trip.”

Alice’s eyes snapped up to hers, wide. “Eliot is… And Quentin..?” Joey snickered at her side, and Alice giggled a little, too. “That’s… interesting, I guess.” She turned the toy in her hands delicately and Margo had to admit she liked the view of Alice’s hands around a cock, real or not. “I like the glitter. My mom’s stuff was more… practical.”

“Shit, really? You’ve gotta see this, then.” Margo took the strap on back from her and returned it to the drawer before withdrawing what was probably the weirdest thing in her inventory, a large midnight blue, tentacle-shaped dildo. “Meet Ursula.”

Alice’s mouth fell open. “Is that a--”

“Uh-huh.”

Alice lifted it eagerly from Margo’s hand, turning it. “Wouldn’t it… hurt?”

“Squeeze it.”

Alice gave her a quick, uncertain smile, wrinkling her nose as she did so. “Oh, it gives quite a bit.” She handed it back. “I don’t think that’d really be my thing, though.”

Margo exchanged a glance with Joey at the comment, and he arched an encouraging eyebrow at her before tilting his head towards the door, asking if she wanted him to clear out. Her own brow twitched in response, indicating for him to stay put for the moment. 

“Well,” Margo responded, returning the dildo to the drawer. “You could look through here if you wanted.” 

Alice did look towards the open drawer in interest, but shook her head after a moment. “Maybe some other time?”

Margo shoved down her disappointment, forcing herself to smile. Some other time was better than nothing. “Sure, anytime you want. Just let me know.”

But then Alice reached out her hand. Confused Margo stepped forward to take it, surprised when Alice tugged her forward, leaning back against Joey’s shoulder at the same time. 

Margo stopped when her hips pressed against the mattress, unable to move closer unless she climbed into the bed. She shared another look with Joey, but he looked just as confused as she felt. 

_ Fuck it,  _ Margo thought, crawling up, and Alice immediately shifted to give her room, using Joey as a pillow as she smiled up at Margo. 

“Um,” Joey spoke. 

Alice turned. “I’m sorry, are you uncomfortable? Here.” She moved off of him a little, allowing him to pull his arm out from under her.

Joey smiled. “I was just gonna offer to give you guys some space.”

Alice’s brow quirked. “Oh?” She looked to Margo. “Do you want him to go?”

Margo almost laughed, because who the fuck was this woman? “That’s entirely up to you.”

“Oh. Well.” She looked at Joey again. “There was a kind of reason I declined the dildo. But if you’re not… attracted to me, that’s fine. I won’t be offended.”

Margo watched Joey’s eyes roam over Alice’s face before he grinned slowly. “I’m good here,” he assured her.

“Oh, good. But I’m going to kiss Margo first,” she informed him and Margo grinned as Alice looked up at her expectantly.

This night had just turned  _ right  _ the fuck around.

*

_ Quentin _

“Q.”

Quentin felt the familiar weight of Eliot’s hand against his face and slowly opened his eyes. It was dark in the room, and he could barely make out the shape of Eliot’s features before him. “Hey. Party over?”

“Not so much, but it’s Hoberman. It’ll probably still be going at dawn. It’s almost three now.”

“Thanks for waking me up.” He moved closer to Eliot, cuddling into his side. 

“Well, I wanted to catch you up on a couple of things. Tomorrow could get interesting.”

“Oh, God. Let me have it, I guess.”

“Well… Julia broke it off with Penny and Kady and she’s pretty upset about it.”

“What? Is she… should I text her?”

“I think it can wait; I talked to her and she seemed a little better when she headed back to the library. She’ll probably want to talk to you tomorrow, though.”

“Okay. God, that really sucks. She seemed really happy.”

“I know. The other thing… I don’t know if it’s going to cause drama, but if it does we’re clearing out for the day. We haven’t taken one of our walks in a bit.”

“Shit, that doesn’t sound good.”

“Well, I didn’t actually see what went down, but the talk was that Margo took Joey  _ and  _ Alice to her room while I was outside with Julia.”

_ “Oh.”  _

“Indeed. And I never saw any of them after that, so I assume it’s true.”

“Joey  _ did  _ say he was trying to help Alice get with Margo, but I didn’t think he was looking to get involved, too.”

“Well, shit happens. I guess. Jesus, when did I become the uncomplicated one in this house?”

Quentin laughed, running his fingers over Eliot’s chest hair. “Should I apologize?”

“Don’t you dare,” Eliot replied, pressing a kiss to his brow. 

*

_ Alice _

Alice woke the next morning enveloped in warmth. Squinting against the light, she saw the round shoulder of Margo, and felt her hand being held against the woman’s stomach. Against her back, she felt the solid weight of Joey, his hand loose against her hip and his leg resting on top of hers as his slow breaths fanned against her neck. 

As soon as she opened her eyes all the way, a piercing pain shot through her head that made her wince a bit. Her mouth was tacky and dry and she had no idea what had happened to her glasses. 

She was definitely hungover, but she was also… happy? Last night had been wonderful in ways she still hadn’t processed. She’d felt… understood. Cared for.  _ Wanted.  _ It had seemed effortless in a way that she’d known would have to vanish in the morning light. She’d been prepared to regret it all, to scramble for her clothes in silence before retreating behind her bedroom door.

She supposed it could still happen. She was the only one awake, after all. And  _ she  _ didn’t regret it, but that didn’t mean no one else would. 

“You’re thinking  _ really  _ loudly,” Margo croaked and Alice’s eyes widened with anxiety as the woman turned to face her, a sleepy smile on her face. “‘Morning, princess.”

And oh, that was  _ nice.  _

“Hi,” she managed to reply.

“I don’t get called princess,” Joey grumbled from behind her, sounding mostly still asleep.

Alice laughed softly. “Maybe next time,” she quipped, inwardly thrilled when Margo snickered and she felt Joey nuzzle her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there with his impossibly full lips. His finger caressed her hip, causing her lashes to flutter, and she watched Margo’s eyes darken in interest. 

“Is Joey being naughty under the blankets?” she asked. 

“Trying to be,” Joey replied. 

Realizing this was going to happen  _ again, _ Alice smiled at Margo, feeling shy and bold at the same time as she leaned in to kiss her. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	45. Neverland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thank you all SO MUCH for your comments and encouragement. Stepping back into the world of writing was terrifying, and you all made it feel so easy. I will be posting the first follow-up today, so check the series if you're inclined!

_ Monday _

_ Quentin _

Quentin hurried into the Applied Sciences building that afternoon, having been sent by Sunderland to fetch Eliot. Looking at the numbered doors of the smaller student labs, he found the one she’d told him Eliot was working in and slipped inside.

Eliot’s back was mostly to him as he stood at a long table with a black granite surface, his hands raised before him, as if cradling an invisible sphere. Beyond his hands, Quentin saw a shimmering, amorphous shape stretching in the air like clear taffy, responding to the slight movements of Eliot’s long fingers. 

Quentin forgot about his purpose for being there as he watched the shape grow thinner and larger, the edges beginning to sharpen and solidify into a rectangular shape. 

“Holy shit, El, that’s amazing,” he commented. Eliot’s head snapped towards him and Quentin gasped as the heated glass lost its form, falling to the table in a pile that slowly oozed towards the edges like lava. “Fuck. Sorry,” he said with a wince.

Eliot composed himself quickly, performing a series of rapid tuts over the table. “It’s fine,” he promised. “I can still work from this.” 

Whatever spell he’d done, the glass started to harden, its slow movement coming to a stop as it crystallized. Eliot then turned to give Quentin his full attention, curious. “What are you doing here?”

“Sunderland sent me,” Quentin explained. “We’re all meeting in Metaphysics; Bayati and Davidson were sentenced a couple of hours ago.”

Eliot looked at him in shock. “But… I thought there’d be a trial? Or something?”

“Yeah, me too. Apparently that’s only when there’s a gray area or the evidence doesn’t add up.” He looked towards the table. “Can you leave that?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s fine.”

Eliot and Quentin left the building to make the meandering walk through campus towards the Metaphysics Center. Neither spoke, but Eliot did reach for Quentin’s hand as they stepped into the building, letting himself be led to one of the large labs where Sunderland had told him they’d be meeting.

The doors were open when they arrived, and Quentin slowed his pace when he saw all the people gathered inside, some standing in a loose circle around Dean Fogg. He felt Eliot’s hand on the small of his back and relaxed a bit, moving forward into the room. 

Spotting Julia near one of the rear tables, Quentin made his way over, finding Alice and Joey there as well. They all exchanged nervous smiles as Quentin and Eliot found seats at the table just past them, Eliot taking his hand once they were settled. 

“Miss Quinn and Joey look cozy,” Eliot murmured and Quentin smiled at his attempt to ease the tension. It was true that the two were occupying one space; the lab tables were only meant to seat two. But Joey had pulled up a stool between the two women, and appeared to be keeping his hands to himself. There hadn’t been any weirdness in the cottage since Josh’s party and the alleged threesome, but Joey hadn’t brought it up on Sunday, which he found surprising. Nothing seemed to be bothering him, though, so Quentin didn’t plan to press him about it.

“If everyone would please take a seat,” he heard Fogg call over the muffled conversations occurring throughout the room. The shuffling of feet and stools soon followed as the Brakebills staff and several people Quentin had to assume were members of the board found seats at the arranged laboratory tables. 

Once the room was suitably silent, Fogg looked over everyone, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“Earlier today,” he began, “twelve verdicts were passed in the ongoing cases involving Adhira Bayati’s trafficking network. Three cases remain undecided until more information is gathered, and of course there are still leads being pursued with other suspects. We expect this to drag on for several years, if not longer. The board of Brakebills and myself have decided to use the collective resources of this school to aid the victims in any way possible. That can be discussed at a later time; I know several of you only wish to know what happened today, and you don’t deserve to wait any longer.”

Quentin went still as Fogg focused his attention towards their side of the room. “In the case of the M.C.U.S. versus Mark Davidson. It was decided that Mr. Davidson was too predatory to send off-world. His parents were asked to attend the sentencing review, and though they each swore under oath that no magic would ever be taught to their son again, or even mentioned, they requested to have no contact with him in the future. Also,” Fogg continued, looking at Joey, “they asked me to tell you a phone call would be nice.” Joey’s tense expression fell into one of shame as he stared down at the black surface of the table, and Quentin watched Alice take his hand underneath it.

“The final decision was to strip Mark Davidson of his magic and any memory of his time at Brakebills. At his age and with his knowledge of magic, this will likely render him insane. As an additional measure, he will be institutionalized in a special facility in Maine.”

“Wait, with my mom?” Joey asked incredulously.

“Your grandparents have decided to have your mother transferred to a hospital in Long Island, which will be paid for once your uncle’s assets are liquidated. It’s not a magician-specific unit, but there are several on staff.” Joey blinked slowly as he processed the news, and Quentin saw Eliot sneakily remove his cell from the pocket of his trousers, firing off a text under the table. 

“Now, in the case of Bayati. Adhira’s knowledge of metamagic is unparalleled; the only magician who comes close to her in knowledge or skill is Mayakovsky. She was deemed too valuable a resource to strip of her powers. The magical division of the CIA will be housing her for the foreseen future. If she doesn’t prove useful, sentencing will be reviewed again at a later time.”

A dark chuckle escaped Joey. “So, she got fucking promoted?” Quentin noticed Alice glance at him worriedly.

“I assure you, Mr. Gardner, that is not the case. She will be kept in a Clean unit, though I was not advised of the location. Any magic she performs will be under close surveillance. She is effectively now property of the U.S. government; a tool. As Adhira’s only family members are all deceased, her considerable wealth will be used in starting a foundation to assist the victims. Our first discussions regarding plans for the foundation will begin next month, and anyone with an interest is encouraged to attend. I’ve tasked Todd with posting fliers around campus. We’ll see how that goes. Now, unless there are questions, you’re free to go.”

Joey was the first to leave, nearly toppling his stool in his haste. Quentin frowned, wondering if he should follow or leave the man be. Alice didn’t experience the same indecision, however, hurrying after him into the hall. 

He felt Eliot’s hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be okay.”

Quentin sighed. “I hope so.”

*

_ Eliot _

When they arrived back at the cottage, Quentin left him to see if Joey was on the patio, and Eliot started looking through the kitchen for something to make for dinner. He felt carbs would be appreciated after the stress Quentin and Joey had endured. 

Realizing only a few options were available, Eliot stepped into the common room, looking around until he found Todd with a second-year named Sara on one of the sofas. “Todd, are you busy?”

The man looked up, eyes bright with eagerness already. “No, do you need something?”

“I was just wondering if you’d mind helping me with dinner? We have all the stuff for carbonara, and you’re better at that than I am.”

“Oh, no problem!” Todd replied, leaving the sofa to walk ahead of Eliot into the kitchen, seeing all the ingredients already laid out on the counter. Noticing the bacon, he picked it up, looking thoughtful. “I  _ think  _ Tanisea has pancetta, if you wanna…”

“Say no more,” Eliot muttered with a smirk, opening the fridge and flicking his finger several times before finding the sealed package. He tossed the bacon back inside in its place. “I’ll replace it if I get around to it.”

“So, um. Special occasion?” Todd asked, opening the box of spaghetti. “This is gonna be enough to feed half the cottage.”

“Uh, we just got back from hearing the verdicts,” Eliot admitted. “I figured comfort food was in order. What can I do to help with this?”

“Oh, you could grate the parmesan?” Eliot nodded, reaching for the wedge of cheese and a bowl. “So… good news?”

Eliot shrugged. “Could’ve been worse.” He glanced out the window to see Quentin had found Joey. They were both smoking, with Alice seated off to the side, downwind. Joey was talking, and didn’t look quite as furious at the moment. “I don’t think either of them will see the light of day again, so that’s comforting.”

“Totally.” Todd filled the stockpot with water and ignited one of the stove burners before returning the counter to open the package of pancetta. “Fogg’s got all kinds of plans for that foundation. Assistance funds, temporary housing. It’s going to be huge, I think.”

“That’s good. Is this enough cheese?”

Todd peered over into the bowl. “A little more, and then you’ll mix the egg in.” 

They fell into a comfortable silence as Todd chopped the pancetta, tossing it into a pan and placing it on the stove next to the stockpot, twisting the knob to light another burner. Eliot jumped when Todd turned back to the counter and brought his hand down on one of the cloves of garlic with a loud smack, crushing it slightly. “Jesus, Todd,” he chuckled.

Todd gave him a sheepish glance. “Sorry, that’s how my grandma taught me.” 

“You do you,” Eliot told him with a lift of his brow.

It was strange, seeing the man this way. He was actually graceful once he seemed to forget Eliot’s presence, looking almost meditative as he tossed the pasta over the stove to coat it in the sauce minutes later. 

Then, Margo entered the kitchen, only pausing to smack a light kiss on Eliot’s cheek before she stepped through the back door. “Don’t burn my food, Todd!” she called just before it shut behind her. Todd nearly fumbled the pan, barely righting it before it fell to the floor. Eliot sighed, looking out the window to watch Margo brazenly seat herself in Quentin’s lap, leaning back against his chest.  _ Hussy.  _ He’d texted her Mark’s verdict while he’d still been in the lab, and he knew Margo couldn’t just ask Q for a fucking hug like a well-adjusted person.

Still, Quentin seemed to understand, lighting a cigarette and handing it to Margo before wrapping his arms around her waist as she listened to whatever Joey was saying, eyes wide with interest. He was suddenly overwhelmed by how lucky he was, to have found someone that had just accepted Margo as part of the package of being with him. And doubly lucky that Margo loved Quentin almost as much as she loved him. 

“Pasta’s ready,” Todd announced and Eliot turned to see Todd cleaning his hands on a dish towel. “Um, do you want me to set the table, or clear out?”

Eliot’s brow furrowed. “You know, I wouldn’t have asked you to help if you weren’t invited. I know I’m a dick, but am I really that bad?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean! It’s just, I know it’s kind of, um, private? And probably super stressful. And--”

“Todd.” Eliot placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Breathe.” Todd’s lips quirked a bit as he nodded, his constant enthusiasm shining in his eyes. “Look, you’ve been… helpful lately, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. But if you want to be fully included, you’re going to have to stop bending over backwards. A little individuality is appreciated between friends, okay? You have to try being yourself sometimes.”

Todd frowned thoughtfully before meeting Eliot’s eye with a questioning glance. “So… can I be Eliott again?”

Eliot tilted his head, giving him a sympathetic look as he patted the side of his face. “Oh darling, no. You’re Todd. Help me set the table, though?”

*

Julia joined them for dinner, but even with seven people, there was still a mound of pasta left, and Eliot was grateful when Todd offered to take care of the leftovers and all the empty wine glasses. Margo very conspicuously disappeared with Joey and Alice upstairs, and Julia hugged Quentin tightly before leaving for the night, stumbling a bit from the wine on her way out the door. 

Eliot lifted a half-empty bottle of Chianti from the table by its neck, looking towards Quentin. “Smoke?”

Quentin nodded and together they left the room to walk out onto the patio, the party lanterns illuminating the table in a soft glow as they lit their cigarettes. Quentin reached for the wine and Eliot handed it over as he leaned back into his chair. “Well, that was a fucking day,” he sighed.

“Yeah. You think Sunderland will make you stay longer on Wednesday for missing half your class?”

“Doubtful. I’m a week ahead, really.”

“Oh. Still sorry about fucking you up, though. That was just really cool, seeing you do that.”

Eliot resisted the urge to squirm under Quentin’s praise. “It’s still difficult, but I’m getting the hang of it,” he managed to admit. 

“Is that the hardest part so far?”

Eliot nodded. “Other materials are easier, yeah. Concrete, clay. Brick is kind of a bitch, but that’s just the math. Glass is… temperamental, I guess?” Seeing Quentin looking at him with an adoring smile, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

“Todd mentioned the temporary housing they’re going to build on campus. Do you think Sunderland will draft you to help?”

Eliot blinked. “Um. The thought didn’t actually occur to me? I mean, I doubt it. After next year, I’ll still have to intern somewhere. It’ll be years still until I’m building on my own, if I even make it.”

“You’ll make it, El.” 

And didn’t that easily given faith just make him want to tear up? Fuck Quentin Coldwater. “We’ll see.”

“Mm-hm. So, do you think if we, you know, make it. That you’ll build our house?”

Eliot met his eye with shy surprise, grateful for the dim light as he felt himself blush. He quickly corrected himself, giving Quentin a cool glance.  _ “If?  _ Please. You’re stuck with me, Coldwater. Get over it.”

Quentin laughed softly, reaching across the table for Eliot’s hand. “Already have.”

Eliot let himself bask in the moment, taking in the stars and the fairy lights and his beautiful boyfriend before a more corrupted thought entered his brain, much easier to entertain. “So, the house.  _ Our  _ house,” he corrected himself. “Would you prefer a large bedroom as a shrine to our fucking, or do you think a full-on sex dungeon would be more practical?” Quentin’s head collapsed against the back of his chair as he laughed. “I’m serious. If I’m going to be some hot shit architect, I demand perfection for my spoiled husband.”

Quentin’s eyes were still full of laughter as his expression softened at the term. “I’ll have to think about it,” he replied with a roll of his eyes, and Eliot could clearly see his blushing face under the lights. 

“So… today. You okay with it?”

Quentin took a moment before he nodded. “Yeah. They can’t hurt anyone now, and I just wanna move on, you know? I think Joey’s already feeling better about it, too. He just needed a minute to get over the shock.” Drawing from his cigarette, he exhaled, his expression turning playful. “So, besides the sex dungeon, what can I expect from this house?”

Eliot grinned in delight. “Well. It will have to be Queen Anne Revival, of course.”

“What’s that?”

_ “Quentin.  _ Be serious.”

“I  _ am  _ being serious!”

“God, you’re hopeless.”

“I can Google it.”

“Fine. Google it, you nerd.”

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
